To Live Forever!
by cerealkiller49
Summary: "Is this going to be the end of me? Will I die like this, powerless, insignificant and unfulfilled? No! I've only just started to live! There's so much I have left to do, so much I have not done. I can't die. I won't die. I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I WANT TO LIVE...FOREVER!" Shang Tsung's origins story, from birth to the first MK tournament. Semi-original timeline.
1. In the Beginning

**Copyright disclaimers, as I feel that I've borrowed heavily from other franchises. Mortal Kombat and all its characters belong to Netherrealm Studios and Midway. Alexander Anderson, 'Hellsing' and 'Hellsing Ultimate' belongs to Kouta Hirano. Runescape and all its characters and objects belong to Jagex Ltd.**

**Get some popcorn guys. Not only is this chapter long, but so will be all the chapters to come. And happy anniversary. Here's to another year of mediocre ideas and irregular updates. Bonus section has been added to the end of this chapter.**

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**To Live Forever**

**Chapter 1**

Slowly my eyes open, and I come to my senses. I really wish I hadn't. Not only do I become aware of the agonizing pain that wracks my body, but the glaring light of the sun is torture to my sensitive eyes. All this negative stimuli is unpleasant to me, and I let out an annoyed growl. That sends a jolt of pain through my body and I pull my body into a ball in response. Misery fills me as I wallow on the sandy ground of...wherever it is that I find myself. Unable to move due to the pain, and baking in the harsh sunlight, there was really not much I could do but curl up and seethe inwardly.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a miracle happens: the sun started to set. Slowly but surely, the oppressive ball of light relinquished its position of being at the center of the sky, and made towards the horizon, where it is swallowed up by the distant mountains, bit by bit.

A wide grin splits my face, and I rise from my fetal position on the ground, strangely without any pain. When I first came to, it felt like half of my bones were broken and most of my insides felt like mush. Now, I feel completely fine. Deciding that all that matters is that the pain is gone, I observe my surroundings fully.

I am surrounded by dunes of blood red sand for as far as my eyes can see. I stand in a little crater of sand as if I fell from high up. Far off in the distance to my right, I see jagged mountain peaks. There is nothing more to see around me, so I turn my attention to the sky, where once the hateful sun was. Now the dark sky is adorned by uncountable numbers of glimmering stars, but as vast and breathtaking as the stars are, the thing that draws my attention the most is the moon. Full, round, and shining red, the pale orb looked close enough for me to extend my arms and grab, which, in fact, I tried. But as soon as I caught sight of my arm and…claws, I froze.

_This...is my arm, _I thought. _And these, my claws._

I suppose I should be surprised. Something within me tells me that what I see isn't normal, but I repress that thought. My arm is what it is. Instead of entertaining such thoughts, I observed my limb. It is thin, with blood red skin stretched over still developing muscles. At the end of my appendage are my claws. Five razor sharp looking talons are there, ready to cut and tear.

At the thought of cutting and tearing, a primal instinct awoke within me, and I feel a strong desire to kill something. Immediately after that, I become aware of how hungry I am. Seeing as there is nothing living around me, I head off towards the distant mountains in search of food.

I lose track of the amount of time I spend traversing the desert, but it was surely a long one. I walk onward, with only the navy blue sand to see for miles. The dunes take on the strange color due to the lighting or the lack thereof.

I must've spent the entire night wandering the desert trying to find food, for the glaring sun was up before I knew it. I watch in despair as the hateful orb of light start off as a pink hue on the horizon, slowly rising until it reaches its zenith in the sky, once again baking the ground beneath it and giving back the sand its golden color. I keep my eyes on the ground, for every time I look up, the light blinds me and I hiss and shut my eyes, walking the next few seconds blind until the blazing balls' imprint leaves my sight.

Though I have no real destination, I press onwards with a dogged determination. Eventually, this pays off, and I run into a set of footprints running perpendicular to my path. Eager to see if this would lead to prey, I follow the tracks. Soon, whoever made the tracks became too tired to continue walking, evident due to the footprints becoming drag marks in the sand. Excitement fills me, and makes my stomach flutter as I anticipate a kill. I do not need to continue much further before I run into my target.

The man before me lies on his back, eyes sunken and cheekbones showing. The tattered rags he wears do little to hide his thin limbs and painfully visible ribcage. Dirty, black shoulder-length hair covers his tan head like a mop. I thought he was dead, but the slight rising and falling of his chest alerts me of his live status. Cautiously I saunter up to the still figure with a bloodthirsty grin on my face. If the man noticed me, he did not make it obvious. Instead, his glazed over eyes continue to stare at the blood red sky as if he is dead already. It is evident that he had been spending several days, if not weeks, wasting away in the desert. Slightly disappointed that he did not even struggle a little, I end his miserable life swiftly with my claws and begin my feast.

When I am finished, all that remains of him are a few bones, shattered and sucked dry of marrow. Hunger satiated for now, I make my priority getting out of the glaring light of the sun. I conclude that the fastest way is to dig into the ground for shelter.

As it turns out, my claws are quite adept at digging too. I dig quickly, excavating a hole about three feet wide and thirty feet deep in a matter of minutes. Once out of the burning sunlight and with nothing to do, tiredness overwhelms me. I close my eyes, and let the blackness of sleep take me.

When next I open my eyes, I am greeted by darkness. Thankfully. Even though I dug the hole to be thirty feet deep, enough light could shine into the hole to cause me mild discomfort. I then realize this darkness is caused by the layer of sand covering me. It appears that the wind has blown some sand from above into my pit. I will probably need to make up for that by digging a bit deeper every time I wake up. I burst through the layer of sand to sit upright, my mind itching to know and learn.

_Who am I? _What _am I? Where did I come from? What am I going do?_

Thoughts like these race by in my head at a million miles per hour. I will not get anything done like this, so I take a deep breath and calm myself.

The question of 'who am I?' is quickly discarded. This is unimportant because I need not give an introduction to my prey. Living things are few and far between, and I will likely eat all I encounter. Besides, I do not have enough knowledge to create an identity for myself.

_What am I? _This question should be easy to answer. I am a hunter, a predator. I am a killer, born to tear and bite with my claws and teeth. I am – should - be sentient due to the fact that I am perceiving things and processing conscious thought. Despite all this, something inside me tells me that there's something wrong with me. Something that's not...normal. I choose to listen to my intellect and ignore the voice within me.

Next question, 'where did I come from?' This is one question I do not know the answer to. I have no memories of anything before my awakening in the desert. I seem to possess some knowledge of things...some of those things are things I have never even seen or experienced. This leads me to believe that this knowledge is someone -or something- else's. Thus I conclude that I've either absorbed some of the knowledge of my victim, or I was born with the memories of another being. The latter possibility makes me shudder when I think of it.

Not wanting to entertain such frightening ideas, I shift my thoughts to more practical matters. _What am I going to do?_ Originally, I wanted to make this hole my home, only going out to search for food. However, I doubt that I will be so fortunate as to find any food in the wasteland, let alone a steady source to justify the location of my home. As it is, I will probably starve. Thus, I decide that the best choice of action would be to try to find a way out of the desert to a place where more food is available. Strangely, I have not been bothered by the problem of thirst. Perhaps I am a species native to the desert habitat, and have adapted to require less water. I file this thought away for later. Right now, I need to get moving.

I climb out of my hole into the cool air. The moon is once again up and the wind is blowing refreshingly. I head off towards the distant mountains again, drawn by an unknown fascination.

The journey passes by uneventfully. I walk in the direction of the mountain for hours, but by the time the sun rises again, I feel no closer to the mountains than when I first started. Ignoring the hunger in my belly, I start digging a hole to rest in until the sun sets again. Once again I crawl into my hole and shut my eyes to sleep until the moon dominates the sky once more.

I lose track of how many cycles of sun and moon have passed since I've resolved to find a source of food. The last number I remember is 69. It's always the same old routine. Wake up as soon as the sun sets, climb out of my hole, wander in the direction of the mountains, dig a hole as soon as the horizon brightens, then sleep until the sun sets again. The routine has only been broken twice: Once I encountered a giant lizard and slew it after a tough fight (I gorged myself full and still left half the carcass to the vultures) and another time I found the rotting corpse of some large beast (This was quite disappointing. Not only was the beast already dead, but not much meat remained on its sun bleached bones. I still scavenged what I could). I walk through the desert with my mind numb. I observe that, during my travels, the moon seemed to have disappeared into the darkness of the sky, and then reappeared out of nowhere, definitely an interesting phenomenon. However, there is really nothing to do but walk onwards, nothing to see but dunes of sand and nothing to think about but the hunger in my stomach. It is in this semi-brain-dead condition that I find myself in when I finally reach the foot of the mountains.

The mountains are more like jagged shards of rock rising out of the ground at a slight angle, their sharp peaks reaching into the purple clouds above them. They are barren, devoid of both flora and fauna. The slope of the mountains is steep, and the faces mostly smooth, so climbing them will be a problem even for me, especially with my body weak from hunger. Seeing as this is the case, I walk along the natural spires looking for a pass. Eventually I do, and I go into it. After following the narrow pass for a little way, I come into an open area covered with outcrops of rock. The clearing is quite large; I estimate it is around a hundred yards wide, and maybe half as long. Suddenly, I pause. I can smell, hear and sense the presence of another living being. It is not in sight yet, but by the cautious yet frantic way it moves, I can tell it is scared. In other words, perfect prey. I move quickly and stay low, darting from one outcrop to the next using my senses to locate my target. Eventually, I see my prey. He is facing away from me, but I am struck with a sense of déjà vu. He looks almost exactly like my first victim, except he has brown hair and is not nearly as thin, indicating that he has not been wasting away for weeks. Still, the way he trembles and how he creeps around with a sense of caution is a dead giveaway to the fact that he is out of his element. I sneak behind him without making a sound. Somehow, he senses me, and whips around with a look of fear on his face. It is more delicious than I anticipate his flesh to be. Despite being three feet shorter than he is, I still manage to leap up and slit his throat with my claws, cutting short his pitiful scream. The brunet falls to the ground, lifeless, and I enjoy my first meal in several cycles.

Once I am done stripping his skeleton clean, I leave the man behind and walk towards the other end of the little clearing. There, another narrow pass leads deeper into the heart of the mountains. I give the clearing behind me one last look to see if there is anything important left, and find nothing. I continue down the pass. Eventually the pass widens out again into another clearing, but not nearly as wide as the last one. The clearing bends around the right, and there are a few boulders along the left wall. At the right of the area, a little waterfall feeds steaming hot water into a little pond. Despite all the water falling into it, the pond's water level does not rise. I naturally conclude that there must be at least one tunnel underground that drains the pond. The pond continues all around the right wall. As I continue around the bend, I see that the pond ends at the mouth of the next pass that this clearing narrows down into. Essentially, it's as if the pass never widened in the first place, since the pond restricts the land one has to move on so that it's about the same width as the previous pass. Aside from the little body of water, there is nothing to see in this area other from a few rocks, so I head down the next pass.

The next area is a mix between the previous two areas. It is wide open clearing with rock croppings scattered throughout. There are also numerous ponds like the one in the previous area, but smaller, and with more fumes rising out of it. The water is murky and bubbling and I can see yellow...things growing in there. At the end of the clearing, the pass continues winding deeper into the mountains. Again, I pause. I can feel the presence of another. It is not moving, and I can't smell it above the smelly fumes of the ponds, but I can sense it. It's there, and it's below me. Eager to meet and kill it, I break off into a light jog in search of the hole it's hiding in, when something inside me tells me to stop.

_Why are you doing this_ asks the voice within that's always telling me that I'm not normal and I'm wrong. I hate it. _You are already full, and the being is not threatening you, so why are you so eager to kill it? _I know the answer to that. I'm going to kill it because that's what every single instinct is telling me to do. _Killing for the sake of killing? Do you not find it wrong?_ I snarl in response, tired of this constant pestering of this unknown voice. In the back of my mind, a hypothesis develops in my mind that links the voice in my head to the knowledge of the world that I should not know but do.

I find what I am looking for quickly. It is a pit, much like the one I dug after killing my first victim, but much wider, and potentially much deeper. I cannot tell because the shadow of the mountains and the clouds cover enough light that I can't make out how deep the pit is. I can sense the other, it is right below me. The reckless desire to kill compels me to jump into the hole with no regards to safety. I dig my claws into the wall to slow my descent as soon as I see the ground, but I do not have enough time, and I land roughly. The bottom of the hole is covered with bones and skulls. There are little puddles here and there poking out of the muddy ground. However, the features of this pit are not what interests me. What interests me is the red being lying in the middle of the pit, and it seems that my entrance has just woken it up.

The being is only a bit taller than myself (a surprise, as most things I've encountered are at least twice my size) and no wider. It has two stubby horns just above its temples, and it possesses two pointy ears. It has two thin, long arms that hang to its knees and short stubby legs that end in unsplit hooves. On its back are two small wings that seem to exist more for aesthetics than for flight. The being also has a tail that ends in a wicked barb. It also has claws, but they are not as long as mine. My newly awoken opponent is covered in red skin, and his orange, irisless eyes still clouded by sleep focuses on me, and a bloodthirsty grin identical to the one I'm wearing splits his face.

Unspoken words are exchanged between us. We both knew what we were going to do. This will be a battle to the death merely for the sake of killing the other (though I suspect that my opponent is also slightly hungry) with no mercy given or accepted. I haven't been this excited since I killed that giant lizard. I bend my legs, uncurl my claws and bare my fangs as my opponent do the same. This will be fun.

With a snarl, I leap at the red stranger, claws seeking to tear out his throat. He dodges to the right it and I land ungracefully, but recover quickly. Unfortunately for me, I roll right into his swipe, and his claws rake across my cheek, drawing blood and leaving behind long gashes. I growl, one hand cupping my injury while the other jabs at my opponent, but he steps back and I hit the empty air. I refocus and charge him, not leaping at him this time. As I predicted, he sidesteps to the right, and I turn at the last second to ram my shoulder into his stomach, tackling him to the ground. I use my knees to pin his arms to the ground and pull my right arm back above my head to plunge into my opponent's neck, but I am surprised as something grabs my arm from behind. _Is he using his legs?_ The surprise I feel must've manifested itself on my face, because my opponent leers at me, and he pulls his legs back, pulling my arm, and subsequently me, backwards and off of him. I roll back onto my feet and run at the red fighter who had just gotten back onto his feet, and could not avoid my charge. I swing at him with my left arm, but he blocks it. My momentum, however, pushed him off balance, and he falls on his rear. I did not expect him to fall over like that, so I jump over him to avoid tripping. As soon as I land, I turn around and stab my claws at my opponent's face. He blocks that with his own claws, and our claws interlock.

The situation is a deadlock. I am trying to stab my claws into my opponent's face while he's desperately trying to prevent that by pushing back, and neither of us can overcome the other. After a few seconds of struggling, my opponent rolls backwards and tilts his wrist back. With a lack of anything to hold my weight, I pitch forward, and he throws me with his legs. I go flying and land face first in a puddle of brackish water. I push myself up and turn around to see my opponent doing the same. We circle each other for a few seconds, waiting for the other to make the first move. Eventually, he gets tired of doing nothing and rushes at me, claws swiping at me furiously. His attack is intense, and it's all I can do to just fend off most of his attacks. I can barely make any counterattack. For every ten hits he makes at me I return one. About one in five swipes make contact with my body, and they leave long bloody gashes. One hit in particular was especially deep, catching me in the side and causing me to bend down. This gives me opponent the chance to rake my back with his claws. I snarl and backhand him in the face, knocking him away.

I'm certainly in a bad way. My opponent is outfighting me and my strength is being spent up fast. I have numerous wounds and my opponent doesn't even look tired. Winning this fight seems impossible, but there's no way I'm going to lose. I won't let that happen. If he can beat me in a prolonged battle of strength, I'll just try to use my agility to outmaneuver him.

The fact that he's winning does not escape my opponent. He charges at me with claws outstretched to start clawing away at me, but I duck under his attack and punch him in the gut, winding him. _Punch him? Why did I not use my claws and rip out his intestines?_ My next blow is not as merciful. I unsheathe my claws and rake him from the belly all the way up to his face. Blood squirts out of the wound, blinding my opponent and spraying me with the red liquid too. I use this opportunity to slash at his throat, but he is stumbling about and, though I make contact, it is not deep enough to end his life. The red fighter utters a surprised growl and backs away from me, but I pursue him, slashing away at him. He protects his head with his arms, but his exposed areas are turned to ribbons. After a while of me clawing away at him furiously, my opponent kicks me and knocks me back.

I smile. We're on more even footing now. My opponent is breathing heavily now, and blood flows freely from our wounds. We'll not be able to continue fighting for much longer, and we both know it. It's time to finish this.

The crimson stranger runs at me, but I fall onto my back and roll backwards, kicking back with one foot to fling my opponent over me. He goes flying headfirst into the wall, colliding with a loud _crack_. He will only have a concussion if he is lucky.

Dazed and confused, my opponent rolls over to lie on his back. This gives him a perfect view of me sauntering up to him slowly with a murderous grin on my face. He is finished. I pick him up by the throat with my right hand and drive my left claw into his face. It goes right through his skull and continues until it touches the wall of the pit behind him. The action ends his life immediately, and the corpse starts turning into ash in my hands.

I'm not sure what exactly happened next. I held out my left hand and _something _happened. I'm not sure what, but I started absorbing the ashen remains of my enemy. The strength of my defeated foe fills me, and it's amazing. It's as if it's not just me living anymore, but two beings in one body. I have the strength and power of two, but it is still me and uncompromisingly me who makes the decisions as to what I do with my newfound power. However, I gain more than just that. I get glimpses of the memories and the knowledge of my defeated enemy.

_Waking up, body racked with pain. Unfamiliar, mountainous terrain. Wandering through winding mountain passes. Eventually reach clearing filled with rock outcrops and bubbling pools of toxic water. Tired, so dig hole to rest in. What's this? Someone is tossed into my hole! He seems unable to move, and I'm hungry so I eat him. Delicious. Almost every day a new victim. Easy life. Sleep and eat, sleep and eat. One day, a stranger. The being is only a bit shorter than me and no wider. It has two stubby horns just above its temples, and it possesses two pointy ears. It has two thin, long arms that hang to its knees and short stubby legs that end in unsplit hooves. On its back are two small wings that seem to exist more for aesthetics than for flight. The being also has a tail that ends in a wicked barb. It also has claws that are about an inch longer than mine. My next victim is covered in red skin, and his orange, irisless eyes focus on me, a bloodthirsty grin identical to the one I'm wearing splits his face._

When the absorption process is complete, I take a while to process all that's happened and all I've seen through the eyes of the now dead red being. If what I've seen is correct, then he and I are of the same species. Our beginnings are nearly identical, and our desires the same too, not to mention or appearance. This information is not too hard to digest, as I've always expected other members of my species to exist. What is hard to digest is the new ideas I've gained from absorbing his mind. This concept of day and night...I guess I've always known what it is, but never called it that. To me, it was just cycles of sun and moon dominating the sky. As well, it seems that people are dumped into this hole, but for what reason, I can only guess. My best guess is that it's used to execute prisoners. Whatever the case, here is a steady source of food, and a suitable place for shelter. I will make this my home. With a meal in my stomach and a victory under my figurative belt, I close my eyes and sleep. Life is going to be easy now, but I know this will not last forever. An inner part of me rejects this life of doing nothing but eating and sleeping. I will eventually wander off in search of something more, but, for now, I will rest.

I am awakened by the sounds of a struggle outside my pit. Using my ability to sense spiritual energies, I get an idea of what's going on. Two stronger people, probably guards, are dragging a weaker person, probably a prisoner, kicking and screaming, towards my humble abode with the intent to throw him in for me to finish their job. The prisoner's energy is much weaker than the guards; probably meaning that he's been locked up with little food and water for a while, but a meal is a meal.

I sit upright in anticipation for the kill. Now that the trio is closer, I can hear the exact words of the doomed man's pitiful curses and pathetic begging to be spared. The guards' only response is to chuck him to me. The unfortunate man landed in an ungraceful pile of limbs. Based on the loud _crunch_ he made when he landed, he probably broke a few bones, ensuring that he will not be able to resist me. I stalk towards him slowly, relishing his fear. However, once I get close enough to see his face, the blatant resignation etched all over his face completely took away the thrill of the hunt. Even so, food is food, and at least he is still alive. I lunge at him quickly, cutting short his scream by tearing out his trachea. I devour that, then I devour him, stripping every last bit of flesh from his broken, marrow-drained bones (courtesy of me).

With my hunger now satiated, I now ponder my next course of action. Instinct is screaming at me to get out of this cesspool and wander the land in search of…interesting things. My intellect, however, tells me that the wisest choice would be to stay here. Based on the memories of the previous inhabitant of this pit, the guards regularly dumped prisoners in here every day. If I stay here, I can eat them and grow stronger. Besides, who knows if the world outside isn't like the desert, barren, dry, and devoid of food? Yes, I will settle here until I start going crazy with boredom, then I shall make a name for myself. Literally, I do not recall having a name. That is beside the point. Right now, I need to go back to sleep. I am surprised by how quickly I can force myself to sleep. Within minutes, I am taken back to the black nothingness of sleep.

So a hundred or so years pass. The pattern of eating and sleeping goes uninterrupted the entire time. Only once every thirty or so years a prisoner overpowers the guards and escapes, and I do not get an easy meal. Instead, I have to climb out and hunt him down, which only makes the entire process longer by five minutes, and much more fun. I make sure to leave a bloody arm behind so the guards know that the prisoner has not escaped.

Besides that, I notice that I'm growing. I cannot feel myself growing, but the fact that the pit seems smaller now than it was when I first came here indicates that I've grown. An increase in size naturally accompanies an increase in strength, but it is only enough to allow me to move without strain, not the kind of strength I need to ravage the lands, crushing all who dares opposes me. I need to get stronger, but how?

The solution to this problem presented itself in quite a surprising manner. I was sleeping away when something landed softly in my pit. Very few things land in this hellhole and even fewer land softly. I, being a light sleeper, woke up immediately. The something turned out to be a man.

He is average in terms of height; most of the prisoners thrown in here are about as tall as he is, but he is shorter than me by a full foot. His flowing black hair reaches his shoulders, and his piercing, almond shaped, brown eyes seem to gaze into my soul. His skin is a light shade of ochre and, though his maroon robes cover him from head to toe, I can tell that he is well muscled. Speaking of his garments, it would've been normal if he hadn't had two giants skulls act as his pauldrons. A black sash wraps around his waist and, below that, the back of his robe widens out and continues till it reaches the back of his knees while the front part ends such that it looks like an open trench coat. The strangest thing about this man is that I cannot sense any spiritual energy in him. He must either be suppressing somehow or...I shudder to think of how this can be otherwise.

The newcomer proceeded to make some strange noises. In all my interactions with humans, I have never heard them do anything but scream. The sounds this man is making are not laced with fear, but are steady, calm, and somewhat disinterested. Despite the fact that I have never heard speech, I could still understand him perfectly.

"This is the strongest demon in the area," sniffed the man with a condescending look on his face.

This really got my blood boiling. That weakling _dares _to belittle me? Just for that, I will tear out his heart and feed it to him.

With a roar, I spring at him, claws outstretched at his heart, but he is much faster than I expected. He moves to the side, grabs my arm and spins 180 degrees, throwing me hard at the wall. I collide headfirst, and everything above my shoulders is stuck in the dirt. The impact might've also slightly concussed me, as I am a bit dizzy. I pull my head out, and wobble a bit on me feet, trying to see straight again.

"Fat, weak and inexperienced," sneered the red robed man. "Guided by rage and instinct alone. Pathetic."

This wretch continues to insult me! I will kill him by giving him one thousand cuts, non-lethal, all over his body until he bleeds out!

I charge at him once more, being careful not to leap at him this time. He sticks out one arm outstretched, palm open and facing me. Green energy surrounds his hand. Whatever he is doing does not affect me, though I do feel something trying to push me back. Despite that, I keep rushing at him without slowing down. Once I am within three feet of my target, his eyes widen in realization that I will not be stopped by whatever trick he is trying to pull. I would've bowled him over and torn out his throat if his fast reaction hadn't saved him. He flipped over me as I was about to run him over, then used his hands to push off my shoulders, propelling us in opposite directions, him to a soft landing and me to another meeting with the wall.

"At least you are naturally resistant to magic," observed the infuriating man. "That spell would have most things pinned against the opposite wall. I will have to subdue you by force then."

Faster than a person should be able to move, he dashes at me and rams his elbow into my solar plexus and I double over. He continues his assault by kneeing me in the chin, snapping my head back. Then the red robed man brings both hands together to form a hammer lock and smashes it into my head, sending me face first to the ground violently. I collided with a jaw-shattering _crunch_ and several of my teeth flew out.

Dazed but not out of it, I attempt to get up, but I see, in my peripheral vision, my opponent lift his leg high and bring it down on my head hard. I feel the impact, and then nothing.

When I come to, I am in a strange room. It is circular in shape, not unlike my pit. However, it is significantly wider and the ceiling is only twenty feet off the floor. The walls of the room are built of grey stone blocks and the floor of wooden planks. Facing me is one door, and behind me is another. Scattered throughout the room are unkempt desks littered with papers and bookshelves that look like they are ready to explode due to the number of books crammed into them. Light comes from the chandelier affixed above the center of the room and from candles along the walls. I am trapped at the center of the room in a cage, quite similar to a giant birdcage.

There is but one window in the entire room, and it runs from the ground to about halfway to the ceiling. Looking through the window, I see an identical room with a strange, red being trapped in a birdcage, stuck in a predicament just like my own. This one is red and tall, about seven feet in height. His big, gaping maw is lined with razor sharp teeth, and he studies me back with his pure red, irisless eyes. From the side of his head protrudes two black horns that sticks out to the side then bends so that the tip faces forward. There are more spikes sticking out of the stranger's elbows, black as well. His tail is as long as his upper body and it ends in a black spike as well. The scarlet prisoner is well muscled, but his calves are significantly thinner than any other part of his body. He has claws too, exactly like me, five long talons attached to his palm. His legs end in split hooves, and more black spikes rise out of the back of his calcaneus. Strangely, I cannot feel his spiritual energy, just like the person who imprisoned me, and probably imprisoned the other red being too.

Speak of the devil, here he is now. He teleports into the room in a flash of purple light, which blinds me. Just seeing his face causes me to snarl at him, which he responds to with a gleeful smirk. The mysterious man studies me for a few seconds, before shaking his head and sighing.

"They just don't make them like they used to. I can't believe this is the strongest demon I've found the nearby area."

His constant belittling gets on my nerves really quickly. Since I am trapped in this cage, the only sort of lashing I can do is verbal and, even though I've never spoken the tongue of humans before, speak out.

"I wILl TeAr ouT yOur HeARt aNd Eat IT wHIlE yoU WAtcH!" My voice is creaky from disuse, but he understands.

"At least you still have your fighting spirit!" laughed the sorcerer. "Entertain me, ask me three questions of your choice and I will answer them."

"I nEEd nOthiNg fRom A weAklInG lIKe yOu But youR dEaTh at My hANds!"

"Oh dear, there's no need to be like that." As he says this, he raises his right arm and fires a green blast at me. When it hits my chest, it feels as if he threw a sledgehammer at me, and I am knocked to the ground. "Let's talk civilly, you'll have little to do but sit in that cage elsewise."

I stand back up and, though I am seething inwardly, decide to take him up on his offer. He said he would answer three of my questions, and I plan to use that to my advantage.

"HoW Do I GEt oUt oF hERe?"

"That's quite simple," he answered as he took out a key from the folds of his robe. "You put this key here into the lock of the cage, and you can open the door. Alternatively, you can try breaking the bars, but I'd advise against that, they're magically reinforced."

That was not as helpful as I would've liked, but at least now I know that the bars are reinforced.

"WHo aRe YoU?" This question doesn't help me get out, but I now realize that nothing I ask will result in him letting me out. Since that's the case, I might as well get some answers to some burning questions of mine.

"Good question! I am Shang Lao, sorcerer, specializing in necromancy, homunculus building and interdimensional travel, among other things."

"WhAt ARe yOU GoINg to DO tO me?"

"I am not going to do a thing. You will be the one doing things. See, my profession warrants a lot of enemies, many of which try to kill me. For the sake of self-preservation, I have cast numerous enchantments and wards on my tower as well as having many beasts guard the various floors of my tower. You are to be my new final guard since my old one has been slain. You are poorly suited for the job, seeing as you're so fat and weak, but that's because you are no different than a pig that's been raised on a farm, all you do eat and sleep then sleep and eat. Besides, you have been consuming the essence of weaklings. The prisoners they throw into your pit are so pathetic I'm surprised you haven't turned into a worm! Nevertheless, the opponents you will meet are stronger and tougher than anything you can imagine; some of them might even be stronger than me! In any case, you won't get your food for free anymore; you'll have to earn it. It'll be good for you too; only by drinking the blood of true warriors can you really become strong."

That answered several of my more urgent questions. A few still remain on my mind, however.

"HoW Am I gOInG tO pROteCt You iF I'M sTuCK in ThIs cAGe?"

"I only promised to answer three of your questions, but I'm feeling generous. Once I've gauged your strength, I'll cast appropriate wards and enchantments on this room to prevent you from escaping, and then there will be no more need for this cage."

"If YOu neEDeD ANoTher gUArdIan, wHy noT UsE hIm?" I ask as I point to the stranger in the window.

"…This fool's never even seen a mirror before," sighed Shang Lao as he covered his face with his palm. "That is your reflection, not another demon."

"OnE mORe ThiNg: Who am I?"

"A demon," he replied. He then furrowed his brows as if concentrating hard, and my brain itched, as if someone was scratching at it. After a few seconds, he started talking again. "Your true demonic name is Tsung Kril'yha, offspring of the legendary elder demon Tsung Mwo'gwai. That is all the time I'll spare for you. Until the next we meet, my power be upon you." With that, the sorcerer disappeared through the door behind me.

A lot has been revealed to me. At first, I am reluctant to be the guard dog for that detestable man, but I was growing bored of life in the cesspool anyways, and people will come to me bringing worthy fights. The promise of battle and power is surely the best I can ask for.

Also, he called me a demon. I do not believe he meant it as an insult; it is more likely that that is what I am. I had my suspicions when I started devouring human flesh.

Another thought hit me. If that is truly my reflection, then I have grown so much since I last saw myself through the eyes of the foe I vanquished. I have tripled in height and developed muscles (though that Shang Lao still calls me fat) and lost my wings. My growth surprises me. Though I have done nothing but live the pig's life, I still naturally develop this type of physique.

Now with nothing to do, my habits from a century of doing nothing kicks in and a curl up to sleep, being unable to lie down fully in this cage, with dreams of bloodshed and slaughter dancing in my head.

I sense a presence. It can't be the one I'm guarding, I cannot sense his soul. This one's energy is spectacular. He feels ten times stronger than even the guards that throw their hapless prisoners to my waiting jaws. He is below me now, but is making his way up quickly, but not quickly enough to denote a familiarity with the tower. This must be an intruder, and my first victim. I stand up, jaws watering in anticipation and the cage magically disappears around me.

After about ten minutes of waiting, he finally makes it. The door in front of me bursts open, and my panting opponent is finally revealed to me. He is a half a head taller than the one who imprisoned me, though he is undoubtedly boosted by the iron greaves he's wearing. His brown hair is shaped in a crew cut and his blue eyes, though they appear to be looking at the ground, I know to be studying everything in this room, especially me. He is clad in simple iron armor that completely exposes his arms, while a piece of cloth bearing a golden cross hangs out from the head opening to the waist, where it is secured by a piece of rope. In my foe's left hand is an iron square shield and, in his right, an iron longsword, though I can sense that it is no ordinary sword. It is brimming with magic. His face and arms are covered by wounds, testament to the tough defenses of the tower.

Now that my opponent's finished catching his breath, he stands up straight, raises his shield to protect his vital organs, and flashes me a cocky smile.

"I've come this far already," he said. "You won't stop me."

"I wIlL FeASt on YouR fLeSh!" I replied.

I do not give him a chance to respond. Instead, I swipe at him with my right arm, which he deflects with his shield. The recoil of the blow causes me to take a step back and him to go down on one knee. He stands back up quickly, but ducks down again to avoid another swipe from me. He jabs at me with his sword, but it wouldn't have reached me even if I hadn't hopped back since my arms are longer than his sword's reach.

We circle each other, watching and waiting for an opportunity to strike. Sometimes I stomp my foot at him, pretending to attack in order to intimidate him. Sometimes he slashes at me to keep me on alert. Eventually I grow weary of this waiting and attack him. Due to my superior range, I can assault him without him being able to retaliate. The iron clad warrior realizes this too, and tries to get closer to attack me with his sword, but I fall back to stay just out of his reach. Seeing that he cannot touch me with his weapon, my foe retreats out of my reach and fires a beam of light at me from his sword. It bounces off me harmlessly and explodes into a hundred fragments of light.

"All the other foul beasts in this accursed tower become dust just at the sight of this holy light!" exclaims the brunet with a look of shock on his face. "What are you?"

"I aM a dEMon fRom yOuR wOrst nIGHtmaRE!" I respond.

Fear fills the face of the doomed warrior, and it brings a hideous grin to my face which only serves to deepen his fear. I swipe at him again, hooking my claws around the square shield and pull it out of his hands. Now that he is without the protection of his shield, I swing at him again, knocking the sword out of his grasp. Unarmed and without the will to fight anymore, the blue eyed swordsman kneels before me, accepting his death. I plunge my talons through his armor and into his ribcage, past the bones, and into the organs. I lift him above me so that he can look into eyes despite him looking down. I get a clean look at his face, and his expression is priceless. Disbelief, fear and a blank look of acceptance is etched on his visage, and I cannot help but taunt him.

"I WiLL bE yOur enD!"

The disbelief and blankness drains from his face, leaving only the look of intensest fear behind. Greater joy I have not known. I decide to show mercy by ending his life quickly by tearing out his windpipe with my jaws. His flesh is the most delicious I've ever tasted, and it reeks of strength, a taste I've never tasted on my food before. I break apart his armor and search for every last bit of flesh. The strength I gain from consuming the warrior's body is spectacular. I should've known how much power I'd gain from eating him when I first sensed his presence, but, even so, I am caught off guard by the power that floods into me. I have not felt like this since I absorbed the ashes of my fallen brethren. Along with this feeling of taking another life into me are the memories of the fallen fighter.

_"So if you could start me off as a colonel, that'd be great." I've just finished showing off my skills. They'll make me a major at least._

_"WHO THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" screams the enlister_

_"Huh?" I asked, genuinely confused._

_"So you're talented, naturally gifted with the power of the light, and a good swordsman too. Good for you! Shao Kahn has many enemies, and hundreds of other talented people like you sign up every day, and they have to go through the ranks just like everyone else, you're not special. If you want to be a high ranking officer, then you have to show that you have what it takes. You have to show that you're smart, a tactical decision maker, and a person that looks after his teammates, as well as the other things that everyone expects in a leader: bravery, integrity, honor and accountability."_

_"…Huh…"_

_"Where are you going? Just because you don't start off as an officer doesn't mean we won't take you. Welcome to the Resistance of the Order of Light, Private Faarthas."_

_I leave the building with no little disappointment. _I have to prove myself, hmm? _I think to myself._ I'll show you. I'll come back with the head of the most dreaded sorcerer in the entire Outworld, Shang Lao himself!

_I spend months trying to find where the treacherous sorcerer is, and one more training and preparing myself for the confrontation. The night before the day I set off for Shang Lao's tower, I have a nightmare so terrible it almost stopped me from going._

_I am running from something, I am not sure what. I am my light magic does not work against it and my sword is useless. Fear and adrenaline pumps through me as I sprint down a dark path, hopefully away from my pursuer, but his dark, throaty chuckles seem to be coming from right behind me. I turn around to try to try to get a glimpse of my chaser, but see no one. When I turn around, I run smack into a tall, red body and fall on my butt. I looked and beheld a demon with black spikes adorning his red body and his incisor lined jaw stretched in a bloodthirsty grin. Terrified, I crawl backwards and ask, "What are you?"_

_"I aM a dEMon fRom yOuR wOrst nIGHtmaRE,"it snarls in response. "I WiLL bE yOur enD!"_

_He brings is claws down on me, and I bolt upright on my bed covered in cold sweat. Never before have I been cut off from the light. Ever since I've been born I remember the presence of the light, and being separated from it, even if only in a dream terrifies me. I have premonitions now and then, and this certainly feels like one and, for just a second, I want to back out of my journey and just rise through the ranks normally. Then I remember all the people of the village, all the lost souls waiting to be avenged, and I put my fears behind me. I need to get to a high rank, unite our resistance with others and then lead them to battle against Shao Kahn, that's the only way I can avenge my fallen friends. I can't wait and earn my rank normally, that would take too long. I need to become an officer as soon as possible, and if that means facing my demons (literally), then so be it._

_Half a week of travelling and I am at the base of the sorcerer's tower. I could feel its dark presence from miles away. It is here that I will earn my rank._

While I am going through the memories of my victim, the accursed sorcerer conjured up the cage again, and I am trapped once more. This slightly puts a damper on my good mood, but does not ruin it. The power and satisfaction I gained from killing the foolish paladin has me on a terrific high. I go to sleep in the same state of euphoria, where I rush into the embrace of even happier dreams.

When next I open my eyes, it is to crush another challenger. For the next two years, I maintain the steady schedule of sleep, fight and eat. After the first year, the cage around me disappears. I do not try to escape because I do enjoy my job. People just come to me as if asking to be slaughtered. As I study myself more in the mirror, I notice that grown thinner over the course of two years. Perhaps master was right to call me fat before. Two years of the correct diet and fighting has helped me shed my weight and grow incredibly strong. I estimate that I am ten, if not twenty times stronger than I used to be when master first brought me here. Along with their strength, I've also gained the knowledge of every one of my foes. I am smart, strong and dangerous; surely this is what my master had in mind when he went out to search for a guardian for his tower.

One day I am awakened not by the appearance of another spiritual energy, but by someone kicking down the door. I bolt upright, expecting to see master since he is the only one I know of that hides his presence, but instead see a stranger crouching in the destroyed doorway. Behind the man, a dimly lit passage leads into the dark depths of the tower.

The man has short, spiky blond hair and green eyes. He also has stubble his chin and a large scar running down his left cheek. His large, bloodthirsty grin reveals extremely prominent incisors. The stranger wears round glasses, a large grey open cassock with a purple trim and blue inside lining, grey pants, black boots, a black shirt with blue trim, white gloves and a silver cross around his neck. In his hands are two silver foot long bayonets that look sharp enough to cut through the walls. Blood covers both the stranger and his blades. The blond stands upright and I see that he is tall. I am at least twice as tall as every other foe I've fought, but I am only a few heads taller than this man. In his new position, the light reflecting off his glasses completely obscures his eyes and his cross glows golden.

"Today is my lucky day," grins the bayonet wielder. His accent is strange, one that I've never heard before, not even in the memories of my victims "Not only do I get to purge the sorcerer but also this abomination of a demon too!"

I smell his scent and it reeks of power. "AaAaaHh…yoU smELl DeLiCIous!"

I pounce at him, but he rolls out of the way and stabs a bayonet at me. I deflect it with my claws and lunge at him, aiming to bite off his arm. He is faster than I am though. He pulls his arm away and punches me in the chin, snapping my head back. I use that momentum to backpedal away from him, avoiding the slashes that the blond aimed at my exposed throat and belly. Before I can make my next move, the holy man reaches into the folds of his coat and throws out three more silver blades at me. The bayonets spread out in a cone and move too quickly for me too dodge all of them. Thus, I decide to take the course of action that minimizes damage and step out of the way of two of the swords while blocking the last with my left forearm. The bayonet tear through my arm and stop just short of my chest, the pain flaring through my arm amplified by the burning sensation caused by the blade. I scream a ghastly cry and pull the holy weapon out, my black blood splattering all over the place, sizzling as it lands.

"Fool," admonished the blond as he sauntered towards me, his swords held perpendicular to each other to form a cross in front of him. "These enchanted silver blades are specifically designed to destroy creatures of the darkness. Even a slight touch from them and monsters like you will feel the power of the Holy One burning you from within!"

I growl in annoyance and jab my left arm at him. In one quick motion, my opponent spreads his arms full out to the sides, the bayonets that they grip following and severing my arm up to my elbow. I am used to losing limbs, as would-be assassins in the past have cut my arms and legs off several times, but I've learned how to regenerate body parts. Still, the pain of losing an arm does not dull with experience, and I howl and stumble backwards. Some of my blood splatters on the blond's cloths and burn small holes in them. Experience does, however, teach me how to regrow lost body parts faster, and a new forearm pops out of my bloody stump before my foe does anything. This, however, seems to amuse the man.

"So the monster can regenerate, eh?" chuckles the green eyed priest as he leaps back to the knocked down door. "Then I will just have to kill it in one blow!"

The holy man dashes at me as I dash at him, his bayonets drawn back to pierce my heart just as my claws are drawn back to rip out his throat. As we near each other, we lunge forward at each other with our respective weapons outstretched to kill the other.

_Squelch!_ The sound of something big and sharp plunging into flesh is heard. My face and the face of my opponent are only a few inches apart, the grins on our faces matching and I am about to say something before I become aware of a sharp, burning pain in my chest. I look down to see the man's holy bayonet sticking out of my heart and straight out the back, with a few inches to spare sticking out of the front. A few seconds later, my arms fall off, severed by an unseen second blow that must've occurred simultaneously with the stab. I utter a bloodcurdling shriek, and my foe kicks me in the stomach, knocking me onto my back. He then throws another silver blade into my throat, cutting short my cries with a _gak_.

Up to this point I've only regenerated arms and legs and tails and other non-vital organs like that, but I am confident that things like my heart and throat are within my power to regenerate. I focus my demonic energies to create a new heart. However, before I am able to do that, the blond interrupts my concentration.

"Don't bother trying to heal yourself. As I mentioned before, these swords are blessed. They will prevent you from regenerating, so feel free to die as I go to kill your master."

Just as the green eyed man turns around, the door that I've guarded opens to reveal my master with his usual calm demeanor. The stranger pulls out two more bayonets and his grin, which is already quite wide, grows impossibly wider. A look passes between the two of them, and something that is above my knowledge and understanding is silently communicated between them. They then engage in some dialogue, but I do not catch most of it as I am trying to repair my lost body or destroyed parts. While my severed arms grow back easily enough, my heart and my throat do not. Every time I attempt to regenerate the destroyed organs, the silver blades lodged within them destroys the tissue around it. I try to speak but instead gurgle on my own blood. I don't have the strength to move anything anymore, and I feel incredibly cold. My eyes widen in realization. I'm dying, and I am going to die.

_Is this going to be the end of me? Will I die like this, powerless, insignificant and unfulfilled? No! I've only just started to live! There's so much I have left to do, so much I have not done. I haven't even razed a single village yet. I can't die. I won't die. I DON'T WANT TO DIE!_ I WANT TO LIVE...FOREVER!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP!" roared my master and the intruder simultaneously. I didn't know that I had been making a half-choking, half-gurgling sound that was super annoying to listen to. I coughed an apologetic cough and suffered in silence as I watched the fight.

The two of them had been fighting for a while already, and it seems the yellow haired invader has the upper hand, as my master has several long gashes on his arms and one running from the left ear to his mouth. Blood is running from his wounds and he's breathing hard while his foe is smirking calmly, cool as a cucumber. It is no surprise too, seeing as my master has no weapons to fight back with.

Quick as a flash, the intruder dashes towards my master, body low to the ground, arms crossed and bayonets pointing backwards. It looks cool but unnecessary, a sure sign of the blond's confidence. Before the swords can cut him into pieces, the mage transforms. In two seconds, he grows wider, gains more muscle and his robes turns into armor composed of a series of overlapping bronze rectangles. On his head is a helmet of bronze that only covers the top and back of his head. In his hands is a weapon that I can only describe as a scimitar blade affixed to a metal pole. The mage-warrior twirls his weapon, deflecting the twin slashes from the holy man. Unfortunately for the bayonet wielder, his attack left him wide open for a counterattack, and a counterattack was made indeed. Master channels the momentum of the spinning weapon into a stab at his opponent's midriff. The green eyed fighter reacts quickly and jumps back as soon as he sees that his attack was deflected, but the reach of the poleaxe exceeds the length of his jump, and the tip of the blade nicks him in the gut, leaving a small slash. The blond looks down at his wound, which is starting to bleed profusely, in shock as if in disbelief that that just happened, then back up at the armored shapeshifter in anger.

With a snarl, the dual wielder throws a couple holy blades at master from the depths of his overcoat, and dashes in while master is deflecting the projectiles. The warrior-mage is fast, however. He blocks the thrown swords and jabs at the incoming yellow and grey blur before it is in range to strike back, and the glasses-wearer is forced to vault over the pole. He lands behind the shapeshifter, just as my master predicted. Without missing a beat, the formmorpher spins around to deliver a sweeping blow, one hand at the base of the blade and the other hand at the other end of the shaft so the blade might lop off his opponent's head. The blond predicts what master is going to do, and does not rise immediately. This action saves his life, as the pole axe whizzes over his head harmlessly, though it does shave off a few hairs. Having evaded the attack, the holy man launches his own attack, springing upwards with an upward slash seeking to eviscerate his foe. The warrior-mage spins with his weapon whilst taking backwards steps to move out of the range of his enemy, thus avoiding the attack. The blond is persistent, however. He lets the attack carry him onto his feet, and dashes at master as soon as he is upright. His blades are low, seeking to destroy master with an upwards slash. Master draws his poleaxe above his head for a crushing blow and charges at his opponent too. The two clashing forces are a few feet away from each other when the bayonet wielder throws his blades to the side and draws out a massive sword from the depths of his cloak. The new blade is twice big as his usual bayonets in every dimension, so its wielder needs to use both hands to use it, and it glows like shining gold even in the poor lighting. This happens with neither combatant slowing down even a bit. As they step into each other's range, they swing, and there is a harsh metal sound.

I watch incredulously as the faux-gold blade cleaves through the poleaxe as if it's made of butter. The two halves of the eviscerated weapon drop to the ground, as do a few of master's severed fingers. The blond flows with his upwards momentum, turning it into a full 360 spin into a clean decapitation at the end of the spin. A helmeted head flies one way as the body slumps the other. A few seconds after the cut, however, both the head and the body dissolves into dust, and master rematerializes behind his would-be killer.

"So it's like that, eh?" says the blond. The man is facing away from master, so master has no idea what this man's face is like right now, but can I see what my master cannot see. I see his insane grin made ten times crazier by the shadows on his face due to him facing away from the main source of light and his glasses becoming opaque with the reflected light. It gives him a very insane, and admittedly cool, appearance. "I will have to kill you multiple times before you stay down."

The holy man pockets his massive blade and withdraws two smaller bayonets that he usually uses as he stands up.

"Not exactly," replies the shapeshifter. "I merely abandoned that body before death could take me. You only need to kill me once. I will not, however, let death take me so easily. Not after so many millennia of avoiding it."

The blond's already maniacal grin grows even crazier and wider. "That's good to know! All I have to do is cut you to pieces until you stop coming back."

A crack forms on the normally calm countenance of my master that manifests itself as an annoyed frown. "You say it like it will be easy," replied my master, his annoyance making itself known in his tone of voice.

"THAT'S BECAUSE IT WILL BE!" roars the silver sword bearer as he charged at the mage. "RRRRRRAAAAAGGGGH!" Master sweeps his right arm in an arc around him, and two green fireballs launches out of his hand, one to either side of him. Upon touching the ground, the projectiles explodes in a burst of viridescent light, and two figures emerge from the light. One wears a two-horned helmet, with shoulder length golden hair spewing out from under it. His full beard is the same color and hangs down to his chest. A simple, leather, sleeveless navy blue split vest trimmed with white fur covers his upper body, exposing his muscular arms and revealing his toned chest. A leather belt studded with metal circles is strapped around his waist which holds a loincloth that covers all his vital lower organs (though the loincloth covers everything beneath it, I'm sure he's wearing underpants beneath that, loincloths often fly around as one fights). Blue-grey fabric is wrapped around his forearms and he wears knee-high boots. In his hands are two small battleaxes.

The other figure is clad in loose fitting chainmail that goes up to his elbows. He wears a brown, sleeveless tunic over the chainmail that hangs to his knees. His legs are covered by brown-nose colored pants. His brown hair is exposed and he has bits of stubble on his chin. He wields a halberd.

Master then summons a sword for himself. A green fireball flickers for a second in his hand before it elongates and materializes into a shortsword made of bone. All this happens in a matter of seconds before the blond intruder even crosses half the distance between him and his foe. The appearance of two new fighters comes as a surprise to the bayonet wielder, and he abruptly jumps back to his starting point.

"Too afraid to fight me by yourself, are you?" taunts the glasses wearer. "Doesn't matter, the more minions you summon, the more heathens I get to cull!"

Apparently he only jumped back to rethink his strategy, because the green eyed maniac once again charges at trio. The halberd wielder steps forward and stabs at him, but he spins around that gracefully and rushes past the chainmail covered fighter without even touching him. Now the bearded man blocks his path, which succeeds in stopping the reckless rush of the blond. The two of them stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. While the priest's attention is on the man in front of him, he does not notice the brunet sneaking up on him. As the one behind stabs at him, the one in front smashes both axes at the intruder's skull. The cleric is agile, however. As soon as he sees the golden hair warrior raise his axes, he runs in close and grabs his shoulders. He then hops up and plants his feet where his hands were and pushes off the helmet wearer as if a springboard, propelling himself forward while pushing the man below him into the spiked point of the halberd, eliminating one of his three opponents.

The bayonet wielder transitions from flying through the air to running at my master by rolling smoothly from the former to the latter. He never got to his intended target however. The hauberk clad warrior teleports into his path in a flare of green fire, weapon held horizontally to impede the blond's progress.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY," snarls the priest as he starts hacking away at the obstacle. The brown haired warrior dexterously blocks the slashes, though the ferocity of the attacks steadily drives him back. Finally my master joins the fight. He leaps at the holy man, blade seeking to gouge out his heart. With two assailants to deal with at once, the dual wielder's steady advance is halted. Even in a one verse two situation, the purifier holds his own, enchanted blades moving almost faster than the eye can track.

The fight reaches a stalemate. Neither side can gain an advantage over the other. The mage and his summoned fighter are trying all their hardest to crack their target's defense, and it is all the bespectacled fighter can do to hold them off. They stay like this for half a minute, and the fight quickly becomes a test of strength to see who tires first and makes a mistake.

Finally the cleric jumps back and unleashes a barrage of holy blades upon his enemies, forcing them to block and dodge as he digs into the pockets of his coat and drags out his behemoth blade once more, this time to throw at the necromancer. The blade flies through the air, horizontally flat and spinning. The summoned servant steps in front of it to deflect the projectile, but he clearly underestimated the power of the blade, or he overestimated his own strength, or both. Either way, the spinning sword bisects his halberd and his torso. Blood from the impact shoots toward master, but the torrent of sanguine liquid parts to either side of the mage, leaving him dry. The black haired sorcerer, seeing the demise of his servant does not make the same mistake. He ducks under the sword and gathers his energy to summon more dark servants. His opponent, however, does not give him the chance. The blond rushes at him faster than he can react, and grabs Shang Lao by the back of his head. He then he proceeds to mash the mage's face into the wall whilst keeping a holy blade at the back of his captive's neck.

"As if I'd let you summon more of your dogs to do your bidding," growls the priest. "I was assigned to take you out, not play with your underlings, though that has been interesting." With that, he cut off the mage's hands, causing him to cry out in pain.

"That's right. Scream. Cry. Beg for mercy. I'm glad that it is I who have received this opportunity, the opportunity to show you the power of God. I will take pleasure in purifying you, heathen. You know how souls must endure several millennia of purification in purgatory before being sent to heaven? Well, I'm here to do that all for you in the span of however long I decide! And after we're done, you'll be able to see God's holy face, and he can personally send you to hell that much faster! But, before we move onto the show for tonight, I'll give you a treat! I'll let you know the name of the one who bested you. My. Name. Is. Alexander. ANDERSON!" The blond plunges a silver blade into Shang Lao's back every time he says a word for the last five words, each blade deliberately avoiding any vital organs.

Shang Lao is tougher than I gave him credit for. He never lets out more than a soft grunt to signify his pain, which clearly displeases the green eyed man.

"I want to hear you scream in pain," growls Anderson as he makes a light cut on the back of his captive's left deltoid. "You will cry out in agony and curse the day you were born!"

"Is this all you're going to do?" asks master as if bored beyond disbelief. "Torture me slowly to death while spouting nonsense about your god? Might as well kill me now.

"You and all the other mages have caused a lot of suffering for people. Even after an eternity in purgatory, I expect you will still be condemned to the fire reserved for the devil and his dark cohorts, where you will burn for all eternity. Therefore, you should get used to this sort of pain. After all, it only gets worse from here on out."

The sorcerer gives no answer, but his body goes limp. His captor notices this and frowns.

"That trick won't work on me, fool," scolds the purifier as he slashes at the mage, drawing a long bloody line from his left shoulder blade to his right hip. "Your little silent act won't save you. Eventually you'll tire from this duress and beg for mercy. It's only a matter of time, and I can do this all day."

I do not catch the rest of the torture because, all of a sudden, a green film of light surrounds me, and the strength of several thousand souls fills me. The coldness that seemed to grip me like a vise disappears, and is replaced by the raging fires of a fighting spirit (or in this case, many fighting spirits). My strength returns to me and a pull both sacred blades out of me, my eviscerated tissues healing immediately. I pull myself to my full height and growl at the priest who has his back hunched, focusing on his work.

"We'Re NOt doNE yEt."

Upon hearing my (admittedly gruesome) voice, the blond straightens up and fixes his glasses. Though I cannot see his face, I can imagine it, with the same maniacal grin filling up half of his face while his glasses, opaque due to the reflected light, take up the other half.

"Oh? The beast has been filled full of holes and left by the wayside to die, and yet still comes back to the aid of its master?" remarks the bayonet wielder as he turns around. For a brief moment, I get a glimpse of his emerald eyes, and it is as I imagined. Filled with insanity. "Obviously the lesson I've taught it has not stuck in its mind. Come, let me teach you about the _wrath _and _power _of God, you _detestable being of darkness!_"

Facing me now, the holy man stows away his dual silver swords and let slip three smaller variants of the bayonets he normally uses from his sleeves into each hand, holding them in the space between his fingers like claws. He rests his right arm by his side, but raises his left arm so that the blades block out his left eye (though that is already impossible to see due to the reflected light), leaving his right eye exposed and seeable.

"If anyone does not love the Lord, Jesus Christ, let him be accursed. Oh Lord, come. AMEN," recites the cleric as he saunters his way towards me. Just because he beat me the first time does not give him the right to be so confident and look down on me. I will show him how bad of an idea it is too have underestimated me!

I spring at him, faster than he anticipated, and probably faster than he can react, and slug him in the face with all my might with my claws sheathed. I did not want that blow to be lethal, but to make sure that he is fighting me with all his might. After all, it's only fun if they fight with all their heart. And once they lose heart figuratively, I make sure they lose it literally too!

My punch launches Anderson back, but he tucks in his legs and flip backwards, landing quite gracefully. Without wasting anytime, he dashes at me, arms outstretched, seeking to plunge the sacred swords they grip into my being to end my life. I roll out of the way and jab my claws at him. He deflects it with one arm and lunges at me with the other, blades aiming for the area from my skull to throat. However, I am faster than he is. I snap my head back and lean backwards to avoid being punctured and punch the cleric in the chin, throwing him back. I shift my weight forward now, pulling my body towards him so I can swipe at his exposed neck and belly, but my foe uses the momentum from the blow to backpedal away from my slashes. Before he can make a move, I spit hellfire at him, an ability I did not even know I possessed. My projectile starts as a small ball of dark green flame, but quickly spreads out in a cone and moves too quickly for my enemy to dodge. Thus, he tries to block it by spinning his bayonets, but the unholy fire quickly melts the enchanted metal.

"Fool," I admonish as I make my way towards him, my claws held perpendicular to each other to make an '_x' _in front of me. "My fiery breath is so hellish, not even your blessed blades can resist it. Even a slight touch of my spit and your flesh will be melted from your bone!"

The blond snarls in annoyance and unleash more of the smaller blades to replace his destroyed ones, then stabs his left arm at me. I grab hold of his arm and spin in a half-circle, releasing him at the end and sending him flying facefirst into a bookshelf. The impact dislodges quite a few books and breaks the shelf his face made direct contact with. One admirable attribute of the green eyed fighter is his tenacity. This man had probably been fighting the entire night to get through the tower, defeated me, then my master and several of his summoned cronies, and is now taking a beating from a rejuvenated me. Blood drips from numerous wounds, most noticeably out of his nose, an injury he must've sustained from being flung into a bookshelf. The mere fact that he is still able to get back onto his feet makes me respect him, even if just a bit.

The holy man dashes at me as I dash at him, his bayonets drawn back to lacerate my throat just as my claws are drawn back to rip out his heart. As we near each other, we lunge forward at each other with our respective weapons outstretched to kill the other.

_Squelch!_ The sound of something big and sharp plunging into flesh is heard. My face and the face of my opponent are only a few inches apart, the grins on our faces matching and he is about to say something when his face contorts in pain. He coughs painfully, and a small squirt of blood flies out of his mouth and onto my face. I look down to see my claws sticking out of his heart and straight out the back, with a few inches to spare sticking out of the front. I kick him in the stomach, knocking him onto his back.

"How is this possible," Anderson manages to choke out, blood trickling out of his mouth in three steady streams. "You were nowhere near as strong when I defeated you, and I should not have tired enough from the fight with the sorcerer for you to be able to beat me. So how is it possible - wait. Could it be? Did that snake Shang Lao transfer his spirit to you? That could explain how you've gained the power of a greater demon."

"YoU nEEd NOt wORrY AbOUt tHaT AnYmoRE," I tell him as I pick him up by his collar. "YoUr SouL IS mInE!"

I am about to tear out his heart and consume it when the priest knees me in the gut. It catches me off-guard and I double over, releasing my captive. He should not have even lived long enough to wonder how I managed to beat him, and yet, here he is, still fighting me even after I've eviscerated his heart. How is he still alive?

"My soul and my body are both protected by the church and by God," states the holy man. "God will have my soul, not you; and the church will bury my body. It will not be consumed by a beast."

Reaching behind him, he draws out a thick tome (from where, I will never know. His coat and sleeves, doesn't show any sign of pockets or hilts keeping the blades, and yet he always pulls out more. I've observed this during his fights, where his coat waves madly in the wind or in fast movements, showing clear sign of its inner sides. Whether he can summon an endless number of bayonets or they are concealed with some sort of holy power, remains unknown) and flips through its pages rapidly. Golden pages materialize out of nowhere and surround his battered frame, swirling around him as if he were the eye of a vortex. The winds generated by the fluttering paper are so strong that I have to look away.

"Know this, sorcerer," boomed the priest, his voice coming from the center of the windstorm. "I know you can hear me! Father Alexander Anderson does not fail missions. This will merely be labeled as 'ongoing'. Mark my words, I'll be back. And when next we meet, I will have your head!" When the winds die down and I am able to look in that direction again, my quarry is gone.

I wait for five full minutes before I am sure that the intruder is gone. The crazed blond's theory that Shang Lao transferred his soul into me is highly likely. I am assailed by strange images that are foreign to me, and I am unable to think. I will not be able come up with a smart course of action in this situation. Thus, I take some time to sift through the vast amount of new knowledge that has presented itself unto me.

A few days passes before I am done, and I spend another few hours thinking about all the new things I've learned. Some things are beneficial, like how to rip souls out of a victim without having to eat him, or how to make homunculi. Other things are less beneficial, but still very interesting, like how to gut a fish, how to craft boots and how to handle needle and thread. And then there are things I'd rather not know, like how many women a man can bed in a single night….

"Silence fills the empty grave, now that I am done," I mused to no one in particular. "But my mind is not at rest, for questions linger on. I will seek, and the world will answer."

Questions still buzz around in my head about the past, everything I've known, and the future, what will I do. The most obvious appealing option right now would be to terrorize some humans in the Earthrealm. One of the most useful things I've learned is how to travel between realms via portals. Creating these portals takes a large amount of energy, and I'm reluctant to expend so much of my strength, even though I just absorbed a ton of it. Still, I'd rather not stay in the Outworld. Based on what I've seen of it, there is not much life around, and what little of it there are will put up a tough fight to survive. I scan through all the information I have on Earthrealm, and see that, though the inhabitants are no pushovers, they are many times easier to subdue than their Outworld counterparts.

Drawing upon my vast stores of power, I rip open a hole between the realms, a white portal with a glowing blue aura appearing out of nowhere.

Before I leave, I take one last look at the place I've resided within for the past two years, the abode of the man that I've learned to respect and the only person I've ever submitted to and called 'master'. I've never given much thought about why I respect him so much. He rarely shows his face to me, and talks to me even less. I suppose it's because of all the people that seek to kill him. Shang Lao maintains control over me, and I crush his foes, so that makes him stronger than his foes. Also, I can see the hatred of his enemies for him in their memories, every single one. He has caused so much bloodshed and terror that his name is known in several realms. He had everything I wanted: knowledge, power, and a feared reputation.

Finally, I transform from my demonic form into a human. It would not do to walk around in my demon body on earth, for that would draw too much unwanted attention. Once I'm confident that I can raze the world without fear of being taken down, I will unleash my true unholy wrath upon them, but I will proceed safely for now. My body shrinks in height and my muscles diminish in size. My tail and horns disappear, as do all the spikes sticking out of my joints and my claws shorten until they merely cover the tip of my fingers. Shoulder-length black hair sprouts out of my head more hair appears in…several other areas. A new organ grows on my crotch and my skin changes from a vermillion red to a light tan brown. Next, I conjure clothing for myself. I summon a blue robe that runs just past my hip with yellow accents running down the center of the robe. A sash wraps around my waist and cuffs are brown-yellow. Underneath that I wear a brown one piece that covers me from neck to feet.

I am ready. I step into the portal, forging onwards towards my destiny. All around me the world turns white, and everything glows with a brightness that swallows me whole.

**Bonus Anderson**

"So the rumors are true."

"Unfortunately, that appears to be so."

Two hooded figures carrying torches make their way through the dank catacombs deep underneath the Vatican. Water drips from the ceiling and pools in stagnant puddles. Torches are braced to the wall at regular intervals, casting enough light on the tunnels for them to be navigable.

"For a paladin of his strength to be defeated…I never thought this day would come."

"Even worse, it is said that he was unable to defeat his foe."

"What? Nothing should be strong enough to take out Anderson without being mortally wounded in return!"

"This too, is a rumor. Do not alarm yourself too much over it."

The two men round a bend and duck through a narrow entryway to enter into a large room. Four identical, rectangular slits that serve as doorways are the only entrances to this room, one on each side. From these entrances four large slabs of suspended stone that connect to a big octangular centerpiece. There is a circular opening at the center of the octagon and a beam of sickly green light emits from that. Aside from the four bridges and the centerpiece, there is no solid ground in this room. Only a single pillar juts out from the bottom of the octagon and it disappears into the misty-blue depths of the earth. Four other hooded figures stand around the opening at the center as the body of Anderson floats suspended in the green light.

"Ah, brothers, you've finally arrived," greets the figure closest to the two newcomers.

"One does not simply delay when the Iscariot Sect calls a meeting. But where is the Pope? Only he can authorize an emergency gathering like this."

"Right here, brother."

All the members of the Iscariot Sect turns and looks at the Pope who had just entered through one of the entrances. The leader of the Catholics is clad in his usual ostentatious white and red robe with gold trimmings and he clutches a silver staff with a cross at its head.

Upon seeing the Pope, every single hooded figure kneels and dips his head in acknowledgement.

"Rise, brothers. I was merely consulting our top healers on my way here. According to them, there is no way they can heal Anderson right now."

"Then using our holy powers to preserve Anderson in this near-death state is pointless."

"Not quite. While the existing abilities and technologies are unable to fully restore our strongest warrior, they will eventually be able to." The Pope walks over to the floating body of the Judas Priest and lays his hand on his chest. "He is our strongest paladin, possibly one of the strongest ever to exist or ever will exist. We cannot let such power slip through our hands so easily. Even if we won't live to see the day of his awakening, Anderson must continue to live on to serve the purposes of the Church and God."

"But Father, to sustain Anderson as he is now requires the presence of at least three of us every day."

"Do not worry about that. Some of our clerics have devised a way to suspend a person's body in time until the proper release incantation is invoked."

"So we will freeze him in time until he can be safely healed, and then he will return to his normal self?"

"Better than his normal self. If Anderson was defeated, that means he still has weakness. We will rebuild him. We will make him better than he was. Better, stronger, faster."

The room is filled with silence for a few moments as the Pope lets his words sink in.

"That will conclude this meeting. Until next time, brethren."

The green light is snuffed out as the hooded figures disperse.

* * *

**Ahhh, poop. I really got overly ambitious on this one. My apologies people. I know I said this was going to be a oneshot, but I really can't finish this story the way I want it to in the amount of time I've allotted for myself. This is definitely _not _the end. I will probably have to make this a two or three shot, depending on how much I cut out.**

**Still, it's funny cuz this chapter is longer than three of MK:TE's chapters combined!**

**Anyways, story explains the backstory of Shang Tsung. I hope to cover everything from the start of his life as an imp to his becoming human, and explore some of his relations with other MK characters like Kenshi, Mileena, Shao Kahn and a whole bunch of others. I really want to develop Shang's character from a demon focused only on consuming and growing in power to becoming a human struggling with human problems, and finally into the cold, heartless sorcerer that we all know and love.**


	2. Earthrealm

**It's done! It's finally finished! Over 30,000 words and the second chapter of this stupid fanfiction is finally complete. I'm going to leave most of my thoughts at the author's note at the bottom of this fanfiction, so happy reading.**

**Himura "Kenshin" Shinta, Hiko Seijuro, Isurugi Raijuta and Makoto Shishio belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki. Shang Tsung, Raiden, Fujin and Kenshi belong to Netherrealm studios. Udyr, Nasus, Renekton and Kayle belong to Riot Games. Try to spot all the cameos.**

**Bonus section has been added.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

It is too dang bright. That's the first thing I notice that is different from Outworld. If I was in my normal form, I have no doubt that the bright sunlight would have me rolling on the ground trying to save my burning eyes. Thankfully, something about being in human form makes the bright sunlight bearable.

The second thing I notice that is different is the lack of magic in the air. Arcane energies permeated the atmosphere of Outworld, sustaining all that can tap into it. I've never noticed the magic in the air of Outworld until I left it and came to Earthrealm. While I did eat back in the mother realm, it was not for sustenance. I ate because it would help me grow stronger, not because I needed to. I could've sustained off the magical aura of Outworld without food. In this realm, however, I will have to eat regularly to maintain my strength.

The portal has put me by a wide river, easily a mile wide, flowing through mountains that rises steeply into the air, not unlike the mountains I saw in Outworld. Those mountain faces were bare rock that rose almost vertically upwards, making them impossible to climb. However, these mountains are covered in trees, some sticking out horizontally from the stone face.

The temperature here is similar to the temperature of Outworld, but I find myself covered by a thin sheen of sticky liquid. This must be "sweat". I do not like it. It makes my robes stick to me and it feels uncomfortable. After checking the area out, it seems to be deserted, so I reveal my true form.

My clothes burst into shreds as my both increases in height and my muscles swell to three times the size of my human form's. Spikes protrude out of my elbows and knees and a pair of wicked horns adorns my head. I sigh in relief now that there is no longer any of that uncomfortable liquid on me.

I hope the portal put me in the Middle Kingdom. According to Master's memories, their wars often leave desolate battlefields that span kilometers, and village after village would be reduced to ruins. I can easily destroy a few villages and no one would be the wiser.

My best option would be to follow the river until I find a village and find out what country I am in. If I am at the right place, the poor fools can become a part of me. If I am not, then I'll find out how to get there before devouring them all. I better change into a human before I begin. I do not want to forget to change into one once I find a settlement.

* * *

Cursed human form! If I had abandoned caution to the winds and proceeded as a demon, I surely would've come across a village already! This weak human body struggles to do even the most basic of tasks, such as smashing through a fallen tree or leaping over a boulder that's in the way. Not only that, but this pathetic sack of flesh has some rather annoying needs that must be met, such as drinking water every now and then or releasing waste every few hours. The latter one is particularly annoying, especially when the waste comes from the rear, since it stinks very badly and I need to wipe the area of exit lest I leave a brown stain on my robes.

The thing that affects me most is hunger. I do not know whether it's the fault of being a human or the lack of magic in this realm, but hunger strikes with the force of a sledgehammer. Sometimes its power is so great it leaves me unable to do anything but just clutch my growling stomach as I crawl along the ground. My stomach must be extremely empty, I have no eaten anything in over a week. I cannot wait for my first meal in this new realm.

Finally, I stumble across a small, overgrown, dirt path. I follow it in the downstream direction and, as I crest a small hill, find myself overlooking a village just as the sun is starting to hide behind the mountains.

As I follow the road into the village, I come across a farmer finishing up his work in the rice paddies, and I call out to him asking for directions to the Middle Kingdom. My voice grabs the attention of the farmer and he turns to look at me, but his face shows his confusion; he doesn't understand me. The black haired peasant barks out in his own language and, even though I've never heard it before, I understand perfectly.

"Hey, what did you say?"

Thinking quickly, I analyze what he said and combined it with the memories of my Master to come up with a rudimentary way of communicating with the man in his native tongue. I somehow manage to get the message across that I'm a foreign traveler with limited ability to speak what they call "the common language". The man, who introduces himself as Shiwen, is hospitable and offers me lodging in his house for the night. I accept with a smile. Little does this poor man know, tonight will be his last night on this earth.

"Hey, Shuhao!" hollers the peasant at his son. "Finish up my share of the work for me; we've got a guest I need to attend to!"

"Sure!' yells back his son, a young man who looks no older than fourteen.

With that taken care of, the farmer, who looks to be in his late thirties, turns back to me and beckons for me to follow him. As we walk, he talks. On and on he goes about the village, his crops, daily life, and all sorts of boring things, but I get a glimpse of just how different this realm is from my realm. This man here is willingly telling a stranger everything about his village and his family without guard. Back in Outworld, the only thing I've ever said to a stranger was how I would kill him, and my opponents have only ever told me how they would triumph over me. If all the inhabitants of this realm are as good-natured as he, I'd be almost sorry to kill them.

Almost.

A jolt of excitement runs through me. I've never had the opportunity to kill unsuspecting prey before. All of my victims prior to now had known that their life was about to end and, while that certainly does have its own charms, killing people without them knowing it is quite exciting as well.

"-regardless, this year's weather is good and I'm expecting a good yield."

The poor fool is too busy talking and, with his back turned, he does not see me revealing my true demonic form.

"Still, despite all the good things this year, it'll still be a bittersweet one. My eldest son is talking about going to the capital t-"

I interrupt him by ramming my left claw through his heart while covering his mouth with my right to hush up any noise he might make. Blood gushes out everywhere as his body goes limp, and I devour him in a matter of seconds. I have no time to waste. I'd better digest (ha!) whatever information I can get from this one and raze this little village to the ground.

Sifting through this man's memories is a lot like talking to him. All his memories want to show me is information about his family and village. While I would definitely need to know my prey well for an attack on a scale as large as this back in Outworld, I need not worry about it here. I need not fear any inhabitant of something that can raise something as soft as the farmer I just ate.

Nevertheless, there is important information in the mind of this peasant. First and foremost, I learn the language of the land, which is very important. Secondly, I find out that I am exactly where I want to be: the Middle Kingdom. And third-

"Father?"

I am interrupted by the farmer's son, the one he referred to as Shuhao, as he returns to home. How unfortunate for us both. For me, it is in the sense that I have to start the slaughter before I'm ready. For him, it is in the sense that he's about to die.

I lunge at him and tear out his throat, but not before he issues a bloodcurdling scream. Perfect. That'll alert the rest of the villagers, and they'll come running to see what's happening. Running like lemmings to their deaths.

A primal hunger descends upon me as my third victim comes into view. A look of horror crosses his face before he starts screaming for help. My vision goes red and I lose myself in the massacre.

* * *

By the time I come to my senses, the stars are up and the first light of day tinges the horizon. I find myself crouched on top of a headless woman on a road strewn with bodies, a now-cold heart in my hands. I suppose the best course of action would be to find and eliminate the remaining villagers that are hiding, and then consuming all the bodies. After that, I can take a day or two to process the memories of all the people I've slaughtered.

This will mark the beginning of an era of plenty and easy hunting. The realization of this fact puts me in a good mood as I move from one mud brick house to the next. Many houses' thatched roofs have caved in (I wonder how), making for excellent hiding spots, so I make sure to check under those. Every few houses I find women and children huddling behind the dried grass. Their faces and their screams - especially their screams - are delicious, almost as delicious as their flesh.

I scour the fields and the surrounding woods to make sure no one tried to run. In an unsurprising turn of events, I find no one. If someone really had ran away, they would probably be long gone by now. Not that it matters. If they come back with more people, they'll just be delivering my next meal right to me. The situation is kind of reminiscent of my days in the pit.

After making sure that there is nothing left alive in this village, I consume the corpses of the villagers. Sitting down in one of the mud brick houses, I change into my human form (if anyone sneaks up on me while I'm in my demonic form, it's guaranteed that there'll be trouble, but if I appear to be human, they might leave me alone) and start filtering the buzzing memories that clutter my mind.

* * *

Luck is against me, it seems. All the souls of my victims tell me the same thing: era is one of peace. This means that I won't be able hide my presence by attributing the destroyed villages to war. Staying unnoticed and gathering my power is the best course of action right now. A confrontation with the armies of the humans would be like fighting a whole swarm of insects: no matter how weak and insignificant they are, the sheer number of them will overwhelm me.

Still, I can still hide my presence for now. I'll get the word out that this village displeased the gods and incurred their wrath, causing them total destruction. Then, I'll disguise myself as a traveller and wander the country, attacking the unfortunate people I meet on the less travelled roads.

So, I might not be destroying entire villages, but life in Earthrealm will still be very easy. My prey is weak in strength, dull in wit and practically begging to be killed. They make friends with strangers they know nothing about and lower their guard when they should be the most alert.

Morphing back into human form, I check to make sure that there are no bloodstains on me before heading down the path that runs through the village and into the mountains.

* * *

A year and a half of easy hunting passes. My prey is unwary and the few bandits I meet quickly realize their mistake, though they do so too late. I see a lot of new sights and learn a lot of new things. Some of these things include rain (I've never experienced it in Outworld, though it is surely not exclusive to Earthrealm), and especially snow. I've seen it on the peaks of some of the mountains back in the mother realm, but never have I been in the middle of a flurry. The first time the white, fluffy flakes of frozen water started falling, I thought someone had cast a spell on me. I was sure that I was resilient to magic cast on me, but I thought an illusion spell had taken hold of my mind. I was about to change into my demonic form when I realized I was not under the influence of magic, but merely in the middle of a snowstorm.

The memories of my late master have started to enter into my mind. After Shang Lao transferred his spirit to me, I gained a massive influx of strength and knowledge, but all of my master's arcane knowledge was still lost to me. Over the past year, as I did some soul searching, so to speak, some of the memories of my master started to enlighten me. A new dimension of fighting has been made known to me. Using and fighting with magic is a strange thing to me. As a demon, I've always had natural affinity to magic, but I could never really utilize it in combat. Now, I know how to project a few simple fireballs, and how to suck the soul out of a person. Also, as a person who also had to deal with the souls of many, Shang Lao developed a technique to filter through the memories of his victims as he does his daily business, meaning he can do work and get the information contained in each soul without having to put in as much extra effort. I have already begun using this technique, and every day I wake up with new wisdom in my mind.

I've also learned to fight as a human. Transforming to a demon every time I meet someone destroys my clothes, and morphing into a human with clothes requires extra energy that I would rather not use for trivial matters like clothes. While the easiest solution would be to forgo these silly garments, the human body is weak and ridiculously susceptible to the elements and would surely be overcome by them if not for the clothes they wear and the shelters they build. Also, it feels weird to be unclothed. Thus, I find myself with no choice but to kill my prey as a human before taking my clothes off and then reverting to my true form to consume my victim before changing back and putting my clothes back on. Ideally, I would not have to change into my demonic body to eat, but raw flesh tastes terrible as a human.

Fighting in this pathetically weak form is surprisingly easy. While the claws of these flesh bags are short and undeveloped and unable to cut anything, their punches and kicks are capable of dealing great damage. And while most of the vital organs are protected by bone and muscle, I've found that going for the throat is always an easy way to take anyone down.

I have also tried human food. The vegetables are horribly disgusting, but the meat is not bad. While I still prefer raw human flesh, I must admit that cooked animal meat does taste pretty good.

In the year and a half that has elapsed since I've destroyed my first village, I've travelled all over the country, avoiding the larger cities and towns. There is very little for me to do as I walk the country roads, so I've taken to observing the natural landscape of the country as I walk. Many times I become so absorbed in my sightseeing that I almost miss other people as we pass, though usually they call out to me as soon as they catch sight of me. Stupid idiots.

The beauty of this realm is spectacular and never ceases to amaze me. Everywhere I go there is something that just makes me wants to pause for a minute and gaze at the amazing view. I've seen everything from pristine lakes and rivers to picture worthy deserts. It is far different from the desolate landscapes of Outworld.

Thus a year of easy living passes, and I grow accustomed to this lazy style of life. However, in the back of my mind, the words of my late Master still reverberate: 'only by drinking the blood of true warriors can you really become strong.' As much as I love the easy life, power is what I truly desire. I still hope that, one day, I might meet some true warriors in my travels, and grow my power.

Little did I know, my wish would be granted soon enough.

* * *

It is spring now. Snowmelt swells the rivers, making them dangerous to travel along, which is why I have decided to the land route from Jiangning to Luoyang.

The road I'm on takes me through the mountains, the leafless skeletons of trees adorning the bare rock faces of the tower natural barriers. It's still pretty early in the morning and mist and clouds obscure the mountains, giving them a mystic feel. I've been stalking my prey for days, steadily gaining distance on them. While I have not gotten so much as a glimpse of my quarry, I know that they are strong, for I can feel their presence from a day's travel's distance away. There are four of them, heading in the same direction as I am which means I have to hurry to catch up. By my estimates, we are a fortnight from Luoyang. If I hurry, I should be able to catch up to them by the time the sun starts to set.

My prey appears to be travelling slowly and leisurely, stopping often for breaks (meals, waste disposal, and what else, I can only imagine). In contrast, I move quickly, practically running, stopping only to relieve myself when I can hold it in no longer, not even stopping to eat or drink (I get my fair share of food and drink whenever I kill someone).

Sure enough, a few hours after the sun has reached its zenith, I hear my prey. Four travellers, all of them male, are talking and laughing loudly as they stroll along the road. Because the road bends around a mountain, I cannot see them, but I can estimate their distance based on their noise, and slow down into a steady but brisk pace so as not to arouse suspicion.

As I round the bend, I finally catch sight of the prey I've been stalking for days. Hunger claws at my stomach (I have not eaten for a week) as the wind shifts, delivering the sweet scent of the humans to my nose. Saliva dribbles out of my mouth as I observe my food.

With the exception of the person on the right, who is shorter and fatter than the rest, all of them are lean and lanky. All of them are shaved bald and wears loose fitting orange garments. Each of them has a haversack slung over their shoulders, probably filled with human food. These four are immensely strong; I can feel their strength radiating off them like heat from the sun. The weakest of them is at least ten times stronger than any other human I have met during my time in this realm. No matter how powerful I am, I don't want to risk defeat. My best chance of defeating these four will be to kill them one by one during the night when they're keeping watch. For now, I'll follow them from a dist-

"Hey, come join us!" A jovial shout brings me out of my thoughts. The fat one has turned around called out to me and the rest of his companions turn around too. I tense and prepare to fight, but then I notice that I can't sense any killing (or even for that matter, fighting) intent from them, and I relax.

Now that I am closer to them, I can study the four travellers in greater detail. Three of them seem to be identical save for their height and girth. Their noses are round and their cheekbones are high and visible (except for the fat one). Laugh lines crease their faces and their eyes are little more than slits, curving upwards in merriment. However, the one beside the fat one is different. His eyes are slits too, but they are narrowed from hostility and suspicion. Whereas his companions have laugh lines creasing their faces, this person has wrinkles from frowning and furrowing his brows too much. Even now he eyes me with distrust, and I return his wary gaze. If anyone is going to cause me trouble, it will be him.

My returning of his wariness is not unnoticed by his companions, as the fat one says to me:

"Don't mind him; he's had a life full of betrayal and backstabbing. He is still wary of us, even after ten years of travelling together!"

If that's the case, then the best thing to do would be to travel with the group, then isolate the suspicious one and kill him, and then kill the rest afterwards. I immediately relax and smile, an action that always seems to put humans at ease. It works this time to, as they relaxed a bit too. Which is strange, though. I did not even notice that they were tense and ready for action. Surely these are warriors of the strongest kind!

The four introduce themselves as Zhao Xin, Liu Yixiang, Han Hongyi, and Jing Dawei, as they appear from left to right. I won't be calling them that though, as Dawei said:

"But that's just for your information. We don't even call each other by our real names. We call each other by our nicknames. Zhao we call Dongdong, Yixiang we call Maomao, Hongyi we call Duoduo and you can call me Xiaoxiao. By the way, what's your name?"

My name? No one has ever asked me that before. I would give them my true name, but the harsh sounds of my demonic name sounds nothing like the soft language these humans speak, and it will surely give away my foreign nature. And as much as I respect my master, I am not he, nor do I wish to be. I want to be _like_ him, but not _be _him. Like Shang Lao but not, a being of my own. Not Shang Lao, but...

"Shang Tsung," I reply.

"Shang Tsung, huh?" interjects Yixiang. "That's a weird name. So, Tsung, where are you headed?"

"Luoyang."

"What do you know?" says Xin. "We're going there too!"

"Let's travel together then," offers Yixiang. "You know what they say, there's safety in numbers."

"In fact, I'm surprised that you're travelling by yourself," says Dawei. "Even though this is an era of peace, the threat of bandits still keeps most from travelling much."

"Well, when you travel as much as I do, you learn how to deal with bandits," I chuckle.

"So I take it then that you know how to handle yourself in a fight? I would like to spar with you once we arrive at the city."

"It would be my pleasure."

This short exchange sets everyone at ease, even Hongyi with his suspicious attitude. We continue forward as a group, talking, joking, and laughing. At the back of my mind, I yearn greatly for the sun to go down, so that they would go to sleep and I may devour them. Being so close to warriors of such great strength makes me want to fight them, and not doing so is only possible due to an enormous amount of willpower on my part.

Finally, the sun starts to dip beneath the mountains, and we decide to stop for the night. It is a dark, moonless night, perfect for stealthily killing my victims. Xin, Yixiang and Dawei gather firewood and starts on dinner whilst Hongyi and I are tasked with going back to the river we passed by a kilometer ago to gather water. Hongyi leads the way with his back turned to me, and the trees should dampen the sound enough so that the others won't hear any sounds of struggle.

I thrust my right hand forward with my fingers flexed straight, reverting that particular part of my body back to normal. This is a special technique that I've been practicing for the last four months, the partial transformation. While I can fight decently with a human body, its lack of claws and sharp teeth makes killing people really hard. With this technique, my ability to kill skyrockets without needing to use as much energy as a full transformation.

My claws pierces Hongyi's throat and tears apart his windpipe and larynx so that he cannot make any loud sounds to alert his comrades. He dies shortly afterwards, and I devour his flesh (using another partial transformation to get the digestive organs of my demonic form).

This man was strong, I can taste it. If I had fought him face to face I would have had a hard time, even in my normal form. His strength and fighting skill enters me as his meat enters my stomach, and I become engorged on meat and power.

Now done with my food, I stand up straight and wipe the blood off my face and clothes. I turn and run back to the camp. If the remainder of them believes my story, I can pick another one of them off before confronting the last two.

The cold dusk air chills me as I breeze through it, but the excitement I get whenever I'm on the hunt renders me invulnerable to the cold. The kilometer we spent the last ten minutes travelling I cover in one. It's strange, though. I should be close to the camp now, so how come-

_Thwack!_

My heightened senses allow me to dodge the projectile just in time. I lean backwards, and a dart zips over my nose in a blur and lodges itself in a tree. I snap my back straight, and see that the dart is no dart, but a chopstick thrown with such force that it surely would've punctured my skull if I had not dodged. I swivel my head to see where the chopstick had come from, and see Xin crouching on top of a tree branch, his face contorted in fury.

"Xin, what are you doing?" I demand. "You need to help me; Hongyi and I were jumped by-"

Another chopstick is thrown behind me. I spin to the side and avoid the projectile.

"Don't even bother trying to lie your way out of this one," snarls the usually jovial voice of Dawei. The malice and hatred in his tone makes him sound like a different person, inspiring both alertness and excitement in me.

"You might not know it, but we were on to you long before you were on to us," adds Yixiang, who drops from a tree and lands to my left. Xin and Dawei hops out of their trees and surround me. They start circling around me, and each of them says a sentence at a time as if they shared a single mind.

"We sensed your monstrously strong presence a week ago and prayed to the Buddha that you would leave us alone."

"To our disappointment, you came right towards us."

"We had hoped that by trying to be friendly with you, you would go on your way without bothering us, but that's clearly not the case."

"We don't need to see Hongyi die to know he died; we can sense the life forces of all living things, so we could sense that he'd been killed."

"And now that you've killed one of us, we can no longer ignore you!"

They stop circling me now that their speech is done, and yell simultaneously:

"Now prepare for our vengeance!"

With that, they were upon me.

If each of them was a flurry of movement, I was a maelstrom. With my arms, I block as many incoming limbs as I could, and with my legs I hop over, step around, or run past kicks and blows. I only block about twenty percent of the incoming attacks. Most of the punches and kicks are harmless because my constant movement causes those attacks to miss.

Fighting against multiple people is nothing new to me. I've been attacked by as many as ten bandits at a time and successfully fought them off without transforming. The secret to handling a fight against multiple enemies is to keep them all in front of me so that no one can sneak up on me and to always keep moving. If I constantly bob and weave, duck and dodge, then I can avoid about half of their attacks.

Having absorbed the powers of that monk, however, my strength and senses increase so sharply that I find that I can fend off attacks from three sides at once. If these three fighters were normal bandits, I have no doubt in my mind that I'd be able to tear them apart. However, this trio is exceptionally strong and, even with my newfound powers; I can do little less than hold off their assault.

Every hit they inflict on me I do the same to them. A kick glances my side, and I lash out with my own leg, feeling it sink into someone's gut even as rock-hard abs try to protect the soft inner organs. Xin lets out a gasp of pain, and is temporarily incapacitated. With one less attacker, I press my slight advantage. Seizing Dawei's arm, I spin him so that he absorbs Yixiang's hammerblow. I kick the fat monk in the back, sending him stumbling into his companion and they both go sprawling onto the ground.

I sense a chop coming from behind, and duck under Xin's ridge hand. I jerk my elbow back, dislocating his jaw with a loud _crack_. I spin around and head-butt the bald fighter, then I lift him up by his robe and throw him at the two who had just got up. The flying body knocks all three of them to the ground again, and I can't control the guffaws that erupt from within at the sight of the tangle of limbs that is Xin, Yixiang and Dawei.

The three monks get up, all breathing hard but none of them beat. They fix their gazes upon me, their eyes cold and focused with fury. Then, they start talking as if they were one person again in that weird way other theirs.

"You might think you have us the upper hand."

"But you haven't seen anything yet!"

"We'll show you our true power!"

"Our ultimate secret technique: The four pronged spear of justice!" This they said all together.

With all the talking out of the way, the three orange clad monks bend their legs and gather their energy for an all-out attack. I can feel their power radiating off them in such large quantities that even I feel a bit nervous.

The monk who is at the middle, Dawei, projects his spiritual energy, chi, at me. His chi is so strong that it blows up a strong gale, and I raise an arm in front of me and look away. In the instant that I avert my gaze, the three of them moves. The blast of wind lasts only a few brief seconds, but in that short amount of time, the three fighters had managed to maneuver themselves to surround me, with Dawei in front of me, Xin to my right and Yixiang to my left. I get the feeling that Hongyi, if he was still alive, would be behind me.

The fat monk draws his arm back for a punch, and I sense the others doing the same. I am moving before their arms even start moving forward. I thrust my right arm perpendicular to Dawei's punch and tilt my body to avoid the incoming blows from the side. They never come. Instead of punching me, the three monks rotate in the clockwise direction so that Yixiang is in front of me. Time seems to freeze as I realize that I'd been tricked out.

Yixiang delivers a devastating uppercut to my gut, and I double over. One of the other monks hits me with a hammer blow to the back of my neck and I lurch face first into the third monk's knee, knocking loose a few teeth. While the knee is successful in sending me airborne, I feel that there should've been another strike to do that.

In an amazing display of speed, coordination and precision, the monks leap up and attack me while I'm in the air. I am hit rapidly in succession and each hit is calculated such that I am suspended in midair, leaving me vulnerable to their next attack. The orange clad comrades hit indiscriminately, landing blows on all parts of my body. Every time they hit me, something within me breaks, snaps or ruptures: a rib here, a tibia there, and a liver there. This brutal beating lasts for a full thirty seconds before one of them kick me in the back - if that kick had hit me in the spine, it surely would have snapped, I'm lucky to have had one of my kidneys destroyed - and sends me flying downwards, right into another one of the bald brawlers who jams his elbow into my sternum, breaking it with a loud _snap_. From the left, the final monk punches me hard and knocks me flying off of my feet.

Xin appears in front of me, stopping my momentum with a powerful punch to my solar plexus, making me cough up blood. My feet touch the ground and, somehow, my legs are able to support my weight, and I don't crumple to the ground. The other two fighters move to line up behind him. Xin hits me once with a strong haymaker, and then dashes to the side to allow for the person behind him - Dawei - to do the same for Yixiang. I stagger back after the first blow and manage to stay upright even after taking the second one, but the third connects with my chin, breaking my jaw and knocking me into the air again.

The three companions leap high off the ground and slam feet first into me together, effectively pulling off one insanely powerful kick. I smash into the earth, and the ground around me breaks, just like half of the bones in my body, and I find myself lying in a crater, surprisingly still alive, and even more surprisingly still conscious. If not for the extra durability I gained from eating the flesh of Hongyi, I'd surely be dead. Even though I'd survived their ultimate attack, I can feel the energy quickly fading from my body, and I can't fight back with more than half the bones in my body broken, fractured or dislocated. I don't even have the energy to open my eyes, but I can still sense the presence of my three enemies. I have surely lost, unless...

Dawei, Xin, and Yixiang slowly approach the crater I lie in to check on their handiwork. All of them are breathing hard after their intense exertions, and none of them talks. I play dead to lull them into a false sense of security so that they might come closer to me. After a full minute of just standing at the edge of the crater, they approach my prone body. Those fools.

The instant they come half a meter from me, I transform and lunge at the nearest monk, Dawei. The tattered rags that used to be my clothes burst into shreds as I suddenly increase in size and girth. Ignoring the screaming protests from my broken bones and still aching muscles, I sink my claws into him and tear him into pieces. The other two orange clad warriors leap away, alarmed.

As I expected, a full transformation would heal any physical injuries I've suffered, but the strength and energy lost will not be recovered. Even so, my demonic form is more efficient with energy, so, even after having lost so much strength, I can still easily handle the two remaining monks. After all, they've expended a ton of energy after using their secret technique.

As Xin and Yixiang get a good look of my true form, their countenances shift from alarmed to outright horror. The sight of their terrified faces imbues me with joy. To have struck true fear into the hearts of two powerful and (presumably) seasoned warriors is an accomplishment worthy of rejoicing. I will celebrate this milestone by feasting on their flesh!

"Together, we've been able to surpass all mortal opponents," begins Xin.

"But destroying demons is the job of the gods," continues Yixiang.

"And we are no gods! Run!" screams both of them simultaneously.

Xin flees in one direction while Yixiang goes the other. Even with my increased speed and power, it will be a nuisance to have to chase both of them, and one of them will likely escape. Therefore, I decide to use a spell I've learned from my master.

_"CARCER!"_

Instantly, I feel the strength drain out of my body as an invisible barrier erects itself in a circle with a radius of 100 meters around me. The fleeing monks slam into it and are unable to pass. In despair, they try to dig under or leap over the barrier, but none of their tricks work. In a flash, I catch up to Yixiang. If fear had not stolen his will to fight, he could've entertained me for a while. Instead, I sever his head from his body and launch myself at Xin. I cover the 200 meter distance between us in a single bound, and drive my outstretched claw into his heart, killing him instantly.

I drag the corpses of the dead monks to the crater and devour them, hungrily gobbling down their power and fighting knowledge. Even as the strength from the flesh of the three monks flood into my body, exhaustion from a day of travel and the fight causes me to droop with weariness. Unable to find the original camp's spot, I curl into a ball, still in my demonic form and fall asleep

* * *

I wake up with energy practically seeping out of my form and knowledge in my mind. Because I am not human right now, I am warm despite sleeping on the cold ground and being drenched by the morning dew. It's a nice sensation, being almost immune to the elements, and I had never realized how much I missed it until now.

The four people that I killed were Shaolin monks, a group Buddhists. I've never heard of the Shaolin, or the Buddhists. A glance into the memories of my victims reveals why. A nationwide persecution is going on all Buddhists, so they've been keeping a low profile. There is to be an annual meeting held near a nearby temple (not at the temple due to surveillance), which is where these four were headed.

In regards to the four monks that I killed, they were most of the young ones that belong to the Shaolin. The remaining youth is a child of 10 by the name of Kung Lao. These four companions have lived and trained together since they were very young. Under the tutelage of Master Zhang, these four quickly learned and became proficient in the Shaolinquan, even developing their own styles to complement each others' in combat. The attack they used against me, the four pronged spear of justice, was their ultimate attack, the culmination of their training and teamwork, amplifying the strength of their attack exponentially. Using this move, the four young hotheads bested their master and proved to him that they were ready to go out into the world and seek adventure. If they remember right (and I'm fairly certain they did, all four of them remember the same thing), their master took the attack without sustaining any major damage. Even taking into account the foursome improving the attack over the years, to withstand such an attack would require a lot of power.

My next target has been acquired! Such an important master would surely be at the annual meeting. The meeting takes place in less than a month, which is plenty of time for me to get there, and I know the location due to the memories of the quartet of fighters I defeated, so I transform into human mode and hurry towards the meeting spot, ignoring the sudden chill that jolts through me due to the sudden shape shift.

* * *

The weeks leading up to the meeting are uneventful, just like the actual meeting itself. I watch gathering from a treetop a kilometer away, taking advantage of my superior demon senses to stay unnoticed. After sorting through the monks' memories, I've also learned to hide my chi, making sure that I'm untraceable by sight and by sense. It's mid-morning by the time the meeting starts. Dew still covers the ground and the trees, but the sun is quickly evaporating it. Most of those in attendance are old people twenty years or more past their prime; unworthy targets. That said, not all the humans there are pathetic. I can sense at two chis that are significantly stronger than all the rest.

One of them is the master of the four monks that I defeated. His chi is the strongest; I could feel it way before I could see him, which is quite far off considering my demon sight. His hair is short and white and covered by a bearskin. He is dressed in the standard orange robes of the Shaolin and he totes a big sack that probably contains all of his belongings. His clothing cannot hide his muscular figure though.

The second strongest is the boy beside him. The child is dressed like everyone else, in orange robes, save for his hat. It is a black, wide brimmed hat with a strip of razor sharp metal surrounding its edge. At his side is a bag similar to the old one's, filled with clothes and food, though only half as big as Master Zhang's. Though the boy has yet to even reach adolescence, I can tell he is strong; he must be a fighting prodigy. Perhaps after I've dealt with his master and given him a few years, I can hunt him down and claim his strength as my own.

The meeting is dull and uneventful. Various old men report on the affairs of various provinces and tell of their struggles and tribulations in the past year. They pray with each other for each other and do some other mumbo jumbo that makes me almost fall asleep. However, I snap to once I hear Master Zhang start talking.

He mentions something about Kung Lao (So that is the Kung Lao that the four monks remembered, he looks a lot different with the hat on) completing his training, and his plans on heading to a place called _riben_. Since I've never heard of anything like that in all my travels, this place must be a far off, foreign land, the perfect place for me to kill him. I'll follow him until he's a good distance from the Middle Kingdom's borders, then I'll kill him.

The meeting dismisses and all the people hobble off in their own directions. A few of them stay around to exchange pleasantries and small talk. Among those people are Kung Lao and Master Zhang. With my heightened hearing, I manage to make out what they say.

"Well, young one, how do you feel, being the first to complete my training at such a young age?"

"Not so special, since you've only had four apprentices before, all of whom trained together and graduated together."

"Bah! A wise mouth, as usual! You know, in the past five years since you've become my apprentice, you've caused me no end of trouble, what with your antics and your pranks and whatnot."

"I know you secretly love it master. Whenever I'm sick and bedridden, I can see how much you miss the ruckus I make in your eyes."

The old man continues talking as if his upstart apprentice hadn't said a word. "Your skills are truly unique and your combat abilities unparalleled, but your problem does not lie with that. Your weakness is that you're too proud and unyielding. You always think you're right, and you usually find a way to prove that. However, you're heading into the real world now. The unstoppable quartet (as they liked to call themselves) and I have sheltered you from some of the harsher truths of the world. There will be times when you are clearly in the right, but the masses will not accept you. You will taste failure, and it will be unbearably bitter to you who is of a proud and unbending heart."

The boy shuffles his feet uncomfortably, clearly bored and wishing this lecture will end. Master Zhang, seeing this, sighs and puts his hand on Kung Lao's head.

"There is so much more I want to say, but I am not your father, nor am I your guardian anymore. You have passed my training and you are heading out into the world now. I ask that you remember my teachings, not just of the martial arts but also what I've taught you about meditation, of seeking inner peace and seeking the _chan_. Go in peace, Brother Lao."

These words seem to affect the young fighter profoundly. Liquid pools at the corners of his eyes and he speaks in a voice that betrays the tears he's holding back.

"Master Zhang, I-"

"I am your master no more."

"Master Zhang, I will remember you and what you've taught me all my life."

"If you insist on calling me master, I will not stop you. Wipe those tears from your eyes, child. This is not a sad occasion, but a happy one, for the short chapter of your life with me is over, and now marks the true beginning of your journey in life. Now go your way, Kung Lao, as I will go mine. And when we meet again in the next life, tell me of your adventures."

The hat wearing boy wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and he smiles after a few more sniffles. With a word of goodbye, Kung Lao picks up his bag and heads west towards the city of Luoyang. The young prodigy's former master smiles as well, and picks up his sack and heads the other way, to the east.

My target is on the move! Changing into human form and throwing on my clothes, I hop from branch to branch, silently following the old master as he moves, never getting closer than 500 meters, but also never farther than 600 meters. Hopefully, the journey to this _riben _place won't take any longer than a month at most. It will be hard to follow this person and find suitable food while I'm at it. Especially when this old master can sense my killing intent and evil presence if I even think about such things. I'd really rather not eat human food, as I have yet to get used to it.

Fortunately for me, Master Zhang is moving at leisure pace, so, if he continues to follow the road eastwards, I can get some food outside of his sensing range and then hurry back to follow him. Pushing off the tree branch I am perched upon, I leap away from the path. Transforming my eyes to spot prey easier, I begin my hunt.

* * *

Cursed old man! In the half hour it took for me to get my lunch, the bearskin wearing master put on a huge burst of speed and has left me behind! Even with my demon senses I can't detect him. My only hope is that he is following the path, or else I will have lost the most delicious morsel I've ever found.

In human form, I leap from one branch to the next, trying to catch up to the Shaolin master. After an hour of frenzied chasing, I can sense his presence. In another hour, he comes into the sights of my demonic eyes. It only takes another half hour to catch up to him.

I am amazed when I catch up to the old monk. He is walking in the manner of one taking a casual stroll, but at a speed faster than most can run at. I have to move quickly just to keep up.

The good thing about travelling this fast is that we will reach our destination faster. The bad thing is that it will be hard for me to wander off in search of food and catching back up. After all, if he decides to go off the road or onto a different path, I will lose track of him completely.

Nevertheless, when dinnertime comes about and the Shaolin monk starts setting up his camp, I decide to go off in search of something to eat. After two hours of futile searching, I return to where I last saw Zhang, only to find that he had taken everything and left. I never expected him to take down his camp and leave so quickly.

Muttering curses, I take to the trees and head down the road, but even after three hours of relentless pursuit, there is no trace of him. By now it is pitch dark I am getting tired too, and hop down to the forest floor. With a certain sense of resignation, I make myself comfortable and go to sleep.

When I wake up in the morning, I have a new sense of resolve. There is no way I'd let such juicy prey slip from my hands. Even if he runs, he cannot hide, and I will find him eventually. Staying in the trees, I rush along the path in pursuit of my elusive prey.

After an hour of chasing, I come across the area where he set up camp last night. The embers of the fire are cold and grey, so he must've been gone for a while now. Nevertheless, this is proof that he is still travelling down this road. If I follow it, I will catch up to him eventually.

With renewed vigor, I set off after the Shaolin master.

When I started in the morning, the sun was barely peeking over the mountaintops. By the time I catch up to Zhang, it is noon. He is cooking noodles with preserved vegetables and dried meat, and the smell causes my mouth to salivate. I haven't eaten since lunchtime yesterday, and the hunger clawing at my belly is infuriating.

_Soon,_ I tell myself. _Wait but a bit longer, and I will treat you to the greatest meal you will ever have._

The white haired old man seems to have not noticed my presence, and it doesn't look like he'll be going anywhere for a while. This is the perfect chance for me to go hunting.

When I return an hour later, my stomach is full and the old fighter is gone. By my estimates, he's been gone for half an hour, but I can still faintly sense his presence up the path. However, this means I have severely underestimated his cooking, eating and packing speed. I will not make the same mistake again.

I chase after him, determined to follow him even to the depths of hell.

* * *

For two more days the wizened warrior pulls the same tricks, leaving in the middle of the night and cooking and eating meals at seemingly impossible speeds. I even begin to suspect that this is his natural way of living. However, on the third day, his style of travelling changes.

No longer does he sleep two hours and travel through the darkness of night. No longer does he prepare and devour his food in ten minutes flat. On the third day, he wakes up after the sun rises. He spends the lunch hour actually eating and savouring his food. He still walks at the same speed in the same way, but following him is much easier now.

At first I suspect that this is a clever ruse to get my guard down, but I soon realize that the true ruse was how he travelled in the first three days.

The rest of the journey is uneventful. After two weeks, the Shaolin master arrives in a port town. It is past noon when he enters the town. He rushes down to the seaside and enter a cabin in a relatively secluded section of the settlement. I move behind the cabin and transform my ears to hear what is going on inside.

The wizened warrior is talking with someone. It seems Zhang is a good planner. Two months before the meeting at the temple, he reserved a spot for himself on a cargo ship headed to _riben_. However, he arrived one day before the ship is scheduled to set sail. This is excellent for me. If he came right on time, it would be hard for me to follow. Sneaking onto and hiding in a ship will be hard, and I will easily be caught. As it is, I have a chance to kill one of the crewmembers and assume his identity, and follow the white haired fighter like that. It would be no good for me to assume the identity of the captain, as I need to be able to slip away easily and follow the Shaolin master after he reaches _Riben_. It would be better for me to become one of the hired hands on board.

Transforming my eyes, I find a good spot to spy on the cabin a few meters away, behind some barrels. Crouching behind the cover, I stare at the wooden structure, making sure that anyone who visits will not be able to leave without me following them. After all, the crew of whichever ship the old man will be sailing on is very likely to drop by the cabin. As it turns out, not a lot of people have business with the (presumed) captain of the vessel. There is not a single visitor the entire day.

Finally, once the sky is a warm orange and the sun start dipping below the ocean, a dozen men approach the cabin. They are a loud, smelly, and raucous bunch. I heard them coming them a mile away. The men are from a diverse age group, ranging from late teens to mid-thirties. Their skin is tan from working under the sun all their lives, and covered in a sheen of grime and sweat. Their hair is short and unkempt, tousled this way and that. They are all wearing tank tops, which are soaked through with sweat after a hard day's work. The rowdy group is laughing and joking and talking loudly. The man at the front of the group seems to be their leader. He throws open the door and speaks so loudly that I could have heard him even if I hadn't enhanced my ears.

"Hey old Li, how about getting a drink with us?"

"No can do Zhang Da," replies the captain. "If you wanted to go drinking with me tonight, you shouldn't have convinced me to go drinking with you yesterday! I spent all of today trying to get over my hangover and I'm only able to catch up on work that I've been unable to do now."

"Aw c'mon cap, just a cup or two won't do any harm!"

"Off with you now! We've got another voyage scheduled as soon as we return from _riben_ and I need to fill out the forms for that. I can't have you distracting me."

"Suit yourself then. C'mon fellas, let's get outta here."

"Don't worry cap, we'll tell you what you missed out on tomorrow!" hollers one of the men.

The entire group bursts into laughter as they walk away. The tired captain leans back in his chair and mutters something about them never growing up. I slip away into the shadows, following after the group of sailors. They walk along the main street until they reach an inn, and all of them enter into it. Due to my victims' memories, I have a rough idea of what will happen in there. All the men will pound down as many drinks as they can handle in a test of "manhood". The ones that can't handle their drinks will pass out or will get kicked out into the streets, while the ones that can go off to flirt with the few women that are in the inn. The ones that get kicked out of the bar usually pass out pretty quickly, so that will be my chance to join the crew.

Luckily for me, I don't need to wait too long for my chance to appear. Within five minutes one of the tank top clad men comes flying out the door.

"There goes one-and-done Lu!" someone exclaims. Drunken laughter erupts as the door is closed.

The unfortunate soul that was tossed out is groaning on the ground, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. I hop down from the roof I was spying from and head towards the unconscious man. It dark now, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon and stars dominate the sky. There are no people on the street, and everyone has either turned in for the night or are too busy to look out the window and see me if I go for it. Just to be safe, however, I drag the drunken sailor into a dark alley before transforming and devouring him. He is in such a stupor that he doesn't even appear to have felt anything.

I immediately assume the dead sailor's form and lie down at where he was when he was thrown out of the inn. I could make up a reason as to why I was in the alley, but it's easier to just pretend to have never moved. This is also a good opportunity to check through the memories of my most recent victim. One slip up and I might be exposed, and that is not a situation I want to be in, even if I am capable of slaughtering them all. Despite the cold of the night and the uncomfortableness of the ground, I manage to fall asleep.

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, it is because someone is prodding me in the ribs with his foot.

"Hey, one-and-done, it's time to get going."

I recognize that voice. It belongs to Qin Wei, someone my victim met as he was searching for a job. The two of them got along really well and, being the younger one, my victim calls him _Da Ge_, meaning bro. I moan and pretend to cradle my aching head. I mumble something incoherent to really sell the image that I'm hungover.

Apparently it works, as the voice laughs.

"That's tough for you, but we're casting off in fifteen minutes and we're not waiting for stragglers. I've already packed and loaded your stuff for you, so you better hurry your butt and get on board."

"Thanks Qin _Da Ge_," I respond. "You're a lifesaver."

"No problem. Now, let's get going."

He offers me a hand, and I take it. He drags me up and we head off towards the ship, me still pretending to be hungover.

The ship we are to sail on is huge. By my estimates, it is almost a hundred meters long and more than a quarter of that wide. There are people hustling to and fro on the deck, getting ready to cast off and the gangplank was retracted as soon as we were on board.

"Hey Yixing, get your but over here!" calls someone. It took me a while to remember that my name is Lu Yixing now, and I hesitated to reply. Thankfully, the person who guided me here spoke before the situation worsened.

"Lay off him for a while cap'n, one-and-done here is still hungover from last night!"

"That's not my problem," responds the captain, the same person I saw in the cabin yesterday. "He should've thought about that before going to drink with you guys. Now haul your butt over here!"

"You got it captain," I grumble. To my companion, I add: "Thanks for looking out for me, Qin _Da Ge_, but don't worry about me, I'll be fine. You gotta go do your own work now, so go on ahead."

"Alright then, I'll see you at lunch then."

"See you."

I head over to the captain, who is standing in front of a sail.

"I was gonna tell you to operate the sails, but doing that will hungover is no good," says the middle aged man. "I'm gonna get you to replace one of the oarsmen. As long as the others know what's going on, you can just follow their lead."

"Aye aye captain," I respond. I turn to leave, but the captain stops me.

"Y'know, if you can't hold your liquor, wouldn't it be for the best if you don't go drinking with them? You're just embarrassing yourself."

My response slips out of my mouth so quickly and naturally it makes me think that my victim responded to something similar on multiple occasions with the same answer. "No can do cap. What else am I going to do all night? Besides, no one is born tolerant. The more I drink, the more I'll be able to hold."

The black haired seafarer chuckles, but doesn't say anything. He goes off to do some other task as I go off to find the oarsmen.

I find the oarsmen at the back of the ship. Two of them dressed similarly to me are leaning against the railings and chatting.

"Hey guys!" I shout. "Switch it up! Captain's ordered me to be on steering duty."

"Well if it isn't one-and-done!" replies one whose name I do not know. He has worked with my victim before, but they never talked nor gotten to know each other, so I don't know his name. "If you're gonna take over here, what do we do then?"

"I was kicked off the sails, so you can go take over there."

"Alright then, we'll be seeing you, one-and-done."

The two hired hands walk off in the direction I came from. I go to where they were standing and put one hand on the oar acting as our rudder. My job would be a simple one, to adjust the rudder and change the direction of the ship as needed.

A light breeze blows through the ship, tousling my hair.

In ten minutes, the ship casts off and steers clear of the port. The beginning of the voyage to _riben _has begun.

* * *

In a blink of an eye, two weeks pass and we arrive at our destination. I spent the voyage working from morning to night doing all sorts of work, from steering to manning the sails to cleaning the ship (my personal least favorite job). The ship has a system of shifts. Every morning the morning shift (which I was a part of) would get up with the sun and relieve the night shift. We would work until noon, have lunch and then rest until dinner, with the night shift taking over our duties. From the next four hours, we'd work until the night shift relieved us.

Of the two major things I remember of the journey, one is the work, and the other is the food. As if regular human food wasn't bad enough, the food we ate during the trip was even worse. At the beginning, we at least had some vegetables and strips of dried meat to add variation to our meals, and everyone was rationed an apple a day. Halfway through, we ran out of everything except rice, which we ate for every meal for a week. By the time we arrived at our destination, my taste buds were almost unfunctional.

As for my prey, I did not catch sight of him once in the entire span of two weeks. I could not even sense his chi. He must've been concealing it somehow.

As soon as the ship was docked and secured, the captain ordered all hands to help unload the cargo. I was afraid that the Shaolin master would sneak away while I was moving the load, seeing as he could mask his presence somehow. Almost as if he was reading my mind, it was at that moment that the old fighter revealed his presence. He was still on the ship, not moving, and the tranquility of his chi seemed to imply that Zhang was not going to go anywhere any time soon. With my mind at ease, I work at the task the captain ordered me to do.

The town we put in at is nothing special. Surrounded by mountains on three sides and by the sea on the other, this town is almost identical to the one we cast out from in the sense that the settlement exists solely because of its docks.

By the time all the cargo is unloaded, the sun is dipping below the horizon and the sea is turned into a sheet of orange glass. A warm, spring breeze blows by me and the sound of seagulls fill my ear. It occurs to me that this is the first time that I've really appreciated the beauty of the seaside. I am jolted out of my reverie by a shout.

"Hey Yixiang, we're going to find a bar! Wanna come with?" It's Qin _Da Ge. _I open my mouth to respond, but it is at that moment that I notice that the Shaolin fighter that I've been tailing for a month is starting to move. I was about to say that I would love to go with them so as not to arouse suspicion (this person is one who would never refuse an invitation to get a drink), but the situation has changed. Once I isolate and kill my target, I will have no more need for this persona and I will disappear, so there is no more need to pretend to be someone I'm not.

"Sorry Qin _Da Ge_, I've got some business to take care of," I yell back. "Once I'm done, I'll be sure to find you."

"Alright, we'll see you later then!"

I give them a wave before I head off to follow the Chinese monk. He is moving at a very slow pace, and I have no problem following him. By the time I catch sight of the orange clad warrior, the sun has fully descended and there are plenty of shadows for me to follow him from. It is a dark, moonless night, but the light of the stars is just enough for me to see. Somewhere along the way, Zhang also picked up a lantern, which also provides some light.

Zhang strolls out of the docks and up the western slope. He walks past the town limits and does not stop until we cannot see the village anymore. Surely he does not mean to travel through the night! The road we are on is lined with trees and the forest's undergrowth spills out onto the path, making the way look narrower than it really is.

I was to busying observing my environment to notice that the old Shaolin had stopped walking, and I just barely stopped myself from walking into him, and I quickly hide myself behind a tree.

Or so I thought.

"You can come out now," states the martial artist emotionlessly.

_Damnit, he caught me._

"No, it wasn't that screw up that caused me to notice you," said Zhang as if reading my mind. "I noticed your presence the second I left the gathering in Henan a month ago. You tried to conceal your presence, but your lack of experience is evident, and I felt your killing intent even as I spoke to Kung Lao. So there's no need to hide. I know you're there. I would've dealt with you much earlier, but I did not want to cause a scene on the ship, lest there be any collateral damage. And I didn't deal with you before then because I had to rush to catch the boat here. Now we're out of eyesight and earshot, no one is going to be involved in this but me and you. That's what you want to, isn't it? So come on, let's settle things here and now."

I can't help but grin. "You're not a master for nothing, I see," I say as I emerge from the shadows.

"I don't know what you have against me, but I know you want to kill me, so I will respond accordingly. Let us fight to the death on this dark night." As the Kung Fu fighter says this, he adopts a fighting stance. In response, I slip into a ready position as are standing about ten meters apart from each other, staring each other down, waiting for the other to make a move.

Zhang make the first move. Moving faster than my eyes can track, he sprints towards me. I leap over his charge to try to get a hit on him from behind. That is my mistake.

In an incredible display of sturdiness, the old fighter pivots and jumps towards me. At the speed he was moving at, a turn at such a sharp angle should've broken his ankles. Instead, he comes soaring through the air at me with a right hook. I cross my arms in front of me and manage to block the punch, but the blow is with such force that I am launched higher into the air. The impact with the ground would have devastated me, but I used a technique that Zhang taught his disciples to land softly from almost any height.

The instant my feet touch the ground, the orange clad martial artist is upon me. We trade a few blows, but I can't get a punch past his guard while he seems to be able to go right past my defence as if it was thin air. Each of his hits hurt like a hammer, but I wonder if he can deal as well as dish. I throw a left jab at Zhang's face, and he shifts to the right while pushing perpendicularly at my arm, a standard block. However, I twist my hand to grab a hold of his arm, temporarily immobilizing it. I twist my hips and turn my body to throw my weight into a right handed hook, connecting solidly with the master martial artist's side, causing him to gasp in pain. I try to take advantage of this by kneeing him in the gut, but he recovers quickly. Wrenching his arm out of my grip, he stops the knee and punches me directly in the chest, knocking me away. I fall backwards to the ground, but throw out my arms behind me, pushing myself upright.

To my surprise, I find myself in a lot of pain. Bruises probably cover my body and I'm breathing heavily already. A quick glance at my opponent reveals that he's in a similar state. Zhang is clutching his side, face contorted in pain, and he seems to be having difficulty breathing. It's just as I suspected. He is very good at attacking his enemies, but age has made his body frail and he cannot take too many hits. Every hit I land on him devastates him more and more, so I can whittle him down easily (albeit slowly). The only matter is if I can take his hits or not.

"It's true that I may not be able to deal with being hit as well as I was when I was young," concedes the Shaolin monk. "But that just means it is better for me to go on the offence then to stay on the defence.

"Tiger's speed!"

With that shout, the old master dashes at me and hits me twice lightly before I'm able to react. I kick at him, but he leaps out of range in time to dodge it. I pull back my right arm and take a step forward to chase after him, but suddenly I feel as if I've been punched in the gut, throat, shin, kidney and face all at once. The sudden pain makes me drop to my feet.

"What was that?" I demand as blood pours out of my mouth.

"That was the power of the tiger! Now see the ferocity of the bear!"

His movement speed seems to have doubled; he becomes a blur to my eyes. Out of nowhere Zhang slams into me from the side and I am knocked clean off my feet and into a tree. I stumble around for a few seconds, as that last blow dazed me quite a bit. Those few seconds are all the Shaolin monk needs to rain a monsoon of fists on me. I try to block as much as I can, but too many punches are connecting. With a frustrated growl, I lash out with my leg.

"Turtle's endurance!"

Zhang shifts his stance to a more balanced, defencive one and takes my hit head on without budging a bit. I throw a punch at him but he ducks under my attack and grabs my arm. He leans down while bending forward and sweeps out my front leg. With an awkward distribution of weight and improper support for it, I fall forwards and the monk throws me clear across the road. I slam into a tree and the impact of my crash reduces the plant to mere splinters.

With a roar I hop to my feet and unleash one of my late master's favorite spells at my opponent: the flaming skulls of hell. Three blazing, skeletal heads pop out of my hands and fly at Zhang.

"Monkey's agility!"

With grace and agility beyond one of such age, the Kung Fu fighter flips and cartwheels his way around my fiery projectiles. I'm not discouraged in the least and I continue to blast skull after skull at my slippery foe. I know that he cannot keep dodging forever.

My fireballs blow away large swathes of trees as Zhang continues evading my spells. The resourceful master leaps off one of the remaining trees and come flying right towards me. I grin, thinking that he's giving up his life to me, but I should've known better. I launch a flaming skull at him, but I've misjudged his trajectory. The blazing head soars over Zhang and he lands at my feet. Before I can react, he punches me in the solar plexus and kicks me away. I tumble to a rough halt.

"If only you'd stop moving! One single blast would rip you apart!" I snarl as I stagger to me feet.

"Is that so?" challenges the smug martial artist. "Then give me your best shot. I won't move."

"YOU'RE MINE!" I scream as I send a wave of four skulls at Zhang.

"Phoenix's flames!"

I jet of pure white fire pours out of the old master's mouth and demolishes my attack.

"This is over," states as Zhang dashes towards me with his arms flexed straight at his sides, streamlining his figure. I throw a roundhouse kick at his head, but he ducks under and delivers a solid punch to my chest, knocking me down. He then knees me in the face as I try to rise and grabs me by the throat. I flail my legs in a desperate attempt to free myself, but the aged fighter stops that with a punch to the face.

"My rage is beyond your control." says Zhang. "I didn't expect you to start shooting those fireballs, but other than that, I'm disappointed. Why would you think you're capable of taking me down if this is all you've got? You waste my time."

With a scoff, the Shaolin monk throws me away. I land on the ground with a big _thud_.

I'm exhausted. Every single part of my body hurts and blood flows freely from multiple wounds. My opponent is tired as well, but not as much as me. The worst part is that I've expended too much energy to transform and turn the tables on my insufferably smug opponent.

_Am I to lose to him?_ No. The only person I couldn't beat in a fair fight was Anderson, and then I just had to fight unfairly to win. If I beat my foe the last time due to an increase in power, then a similar event must occur for me to succeed now. But, since my master is not here this time to provide the power for me, I must make myself stronger by gathering all my strength into one blow. An all-out desperation punch. It's my only chance. If this does not end the battle, I am finished.

Rising up, I roar a battle cry at the top of my lungs. I pull my right arm back and lift my right leg up, keeping it bent. As I sail through the air at the surprised Shaolin master, I kick my leg back to shift all of my weight into my punch. Time slows down as my fist approaches his shocked face. His eyes become impossibly wide and I can feel the euphoria of victory already. However, I greatly underestimated Zhang's speed. He manages to cross his arms in time to block the blow, even though he had less than a millisecond to react and move. I fall to the ground face first. I am defeated.

My bones are broken and my body spent. It is all I can do to lie here on the ground and wait for the finishing blow. I don't even have the energy to keep my eyes open anymore. Blackness attacks my mind, and I pass out. It is an undeserved mercy that I don't have to face my end conscious.

* * *

When I open my eyes, it is to darkness. _Is this what the afterlife is like? Is this my punishment? Eternal darkness for my evil deeds?_

Then, the pain my body is in hits me, and I realize with a start that I'm still alive. _But how? Zhang should've finished me off. Unless..._

I struggle to sit up. While most of my bones are still shattered and my muscles still sore, it is nothing short of miraculous that I am able to move right now. A cold night breeze tickles my skin as I look around. The first thing to catch my attention is how the landscape has changed. Before the fight, this area was a forest with a small path in it. Now, most of the trees around the path have fallen over and a long line of trees perpendicular to the road have been knocked down as if someone had taken a huge knife and scarred the land. I hobble down the lane created by the toppled trees. At the end, I find, to my great surprise, Master Zhang. His orange robes are torn to shreds and multiple cuts and gashes cover him, from which blood flows freely. It appears that he is quite incapacitated.

_How could this have happened?_ My guess is that my punch was strong enough that the force of the impact knocked the old fighter into the trees. My speculation is interrupted by a groan escaping the white-haired fighter's lips. The old man is still alive! Not for long, if I can do anything about it.

I wrap my hands around his throat and yank him up so that our faces are mere centimeters apart. I'm going to enjoy my victory by making him suffer.

"So in the end, it is my body that failed me," breathes the defeated martial artist, so softly that I could barely hear him. "Your strength is feeble, but it appears that my body is even moreso. I deserve this loss."

I can't withstand my hunger anymore. I muster all my strength to transform and I devour his head in one bite. Blood squirts out like a geyser from his severed and it covers my face, chest, and abdomen. Warm plasma flows down my torso as I devour every last delicious morsel.

Suddenly, weariness overcomes me and I slump to the side. In my tiredness, I almost forget to shift into human form. When the sun rises, it would not go well for me if I am found in my true appearance. My brain barely registers the fact that my wounds are still present after the transformation before I fall into a deep slumber.

* * *

It's too dang bright.

I struggle to open my eyelids a fraction of a millimeter and shut them immediately as iridescent light assail my eyes. My brain feels numb and my body is sore, but underneath that is a new sense of power that I've never felt before. I feel changed, renewed. I'm not the same. But, first things first: I should heal my wounds.

_MY WOUNDS._

I freeze. I am not at where I passed out last night. Someone moved me, washed me, and tucked me to bed. There are fresh bandages wrapped around my whole body, and none of the blood that drenched me (both my own and my opponent's) last night is on me. I'm lying on a straw mat with a thin blanket on top. A cup of (now cold) tea is placed beside my bed. The reason for the light shining on my face is the window on the opposite wall letting in the blinding morning light.

I prop myself up on my elbows. _What's going on? Where am I? Who treated my injuries?_ Hundreds of questions buzz through my mind as I struggle to recall what happened.

_I was fighting Zhang. Was kicking my butt. I threw a desperation punch at him with all my force and succeeded in knocking him out, even though he blocked the punch. I ate him, blacked out and then...?_

The sound of a door sliding open brings me back to reality. A man about my height in his early forties stands in the doorway to my right. He carries a steaming cup of tea in his right hand. His full, black hair belies his age, but, at the same time, the prominent laugh lines etched all over his face gives it away. It's quite the interesting combination. He wears a blue robe on the outside and a grey vest on the inside.

"Ah, I see that you're awake," states the mystery man. Again, he speaks in a tongue I've never heard before, but can understand perfectly "You must have a lot of questions. Here, have a cup of tea, and I will try to answer what you ask."

"Where am I?" I ask as I sip on the steaming liquid. Despite not knowing the language, the words roll off my tongue naturally.

"You are at my dojo. I found you unconscious in the toppled trees, so I took you home with you and fixed you up."

"Ok. So who are you?"

"I am Nobuhiro Watsuki. I am the owner of this dojo and a skilled swordsman. I train students here at this building, and I often travel around the country teaching people the art of the blade. It is due to my travels that I managed to find you, stranger."

"One last question then, why are you doing this?"

"You can't expect me to just leave people in such dire need as yourself, can you? You were in such bad shape and covered in so much blood that my travelling companions thought you were dead and wanted to leave you there. But I knew that you were far from death. I could see how hard you were clinging on to life, and, by heavens, I'd be damned if I didn't help you in your desperate struggle.

"And how desperate that struggle was, indeed! For seven days you were out, burning with fever and shaking like a leaf of paper in the wind. I tried all my best to help you, giving you the little medicine I had and trying to get some water into you, but there was little I could do but watch and wait. And now, you are finally awake! It makes my heart glad to see you hale and healthy once more!"

"Wait, did you say that I was out for seven days?"

"That's right. With a bad fever and everything. I wasn't sure you were going to pull through, but you're a real fighter. You went to the edge of death and came right back."

_Seven days? There's no way that it would take a week for my injuries to heal. Even in my human form I still benefit from my accelerated healing abilities as a demon. Unless... unless my body was secretly doing something else as I was recovering. My only explanation would be that my body was too busy processing the power I gained from Zhang to be repair my wounds._

"Well I'm much better now, thanks," I say out loud. I try to get up but the swordsman pushes me down.

"Listen now, you've only just recovered," starts Watsuki. "I won't have you straining yourself and opening a wound. Lie down and relax, I'll bring you some food in a moment."

"No, I'm fine," I try to argue. "My limbs feel sore from being unused for a whole week."

"Well you can walk around the room and stretch a bit, but I won't have you doing anything strenuous," insists the middle aged man.

"Fine, but I don't want to abuse your hospitality for too long,"

"Stay as long as you need to, friend," says the black haired teacher as he leaves the room, sliding the door shut behind him.

With my host out of the room, I am free to test just how strong I've become. After a bit of preliminary stretching, I do a few light stretches and exercises. After getting warmed up, I start on a double set of 100 one-handed pushups, one set for each arm. It is not even enough to make me break a sweat. Seeing as there is nothing else in the room for me to test my might on besides a table, a few cushions and a beautiful painting on the wall, I sit back down and reach over to put on my clothes, only to realize that I don't have any clothes.

_To be fair, I went after Zhang with only a tank top, a pair of trousers and some work boots. And they were destroyed when I transformed. In fact, did I even include clothes when I transformed back into a human?_

The door slides open again, and my host walks in with a tray of food. Perhaps he can answer my question.

"Here you go," says Watsuki graciously as he sets down the tray.

"Thanks," I reply. "Before you go, can you answer one more question for me?"

"Sure."

"When you found me, was I... wearing anything?"

My host takes a second to process what I asked, and then bursts out laughing.

"HAHAHAHA! Is that all you wanted to know?" I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. "Alright. Nobody saw anything in appropriate. Your clothes were bloody, tattered, rags, but it covered all your... _vital _areas. Now, if that's all of your questions, I'm going to leave you to your food."

"Thank you."

The Japanese swordsman leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

I pick up the chopsticks on the tray and start picking away at the food. I've had enough human food to last me a lifetime over the last two weeks, but I don't want to arouse suspicion by not eating the food. After all, I was out for a week. I should be famished. In reality, my belly is quite full, probably due to the deliciously nourishing flesh of Master Zhang. How one person's soul can be so nourishing I have yet to understand. My breakfast consists of a bowl of soup with blocks of tofu in it, some fermented soy beans and a bowl of rice. I manage to eat everything except the rice. I've had enough of that due to the voyage.

With my food done, I now take the following time to think of a plausible story that will explain why I was the way I was. Anyone would be curious as to why a stranger is lying, covered in blood, and in a place as strange as an alley formed by toppled trees. A bandit attack would explain the wounds, but the trees? The swordsman is a traveller. He's probably been down that road before and knows that it's not naturally like that. Perhaps a bit of the truth would help. I could reveal that I'm a powerful fighter and repelled the bandits with such force as to create the devastation he saw. _But there are no bandit bodies. Surely if you fought back with enough force to knock down trees there would be bodies._ The bandits must've taken the bodies of their fallen brethren and left, I'll say. _So if you managed to repel them, how did you get so damaged?_ Hmm. The leader of the bandits is a huge, hulking man. After seeing that his cronies couldn't get the job done, he joined the fight and knocked me silly. _Ok, so why are you here in _Riben_ in the first place? You're clearly a foreigner. _I was working as a hired hand for a ship that just put in. We had a few weeks before our next voyage, so I decided to see the country a bit. _If that's so, why did you travel by night? Surely you knew that was a bad idea! _I was drunk out of my mind at the time. I don't know why I did what I did either.

My story holds. Any questions he might have, I have prepared for.

As if on cue, the door opens and Watsuki walks in.

"Ah, I see that you've finished your food," he comments. Then his eyes see the untouched bowl of rice and a frown crosses his face. "But the rice? You've left it completely alone."

_Hmm, didn't prepare for that._ "Oh, please excuse me. I just got off of a long voyage, and have had nothing to eat for a week but rice, so I'm pretty sick of it. I mean no offence to you, of course."

"Ok, I see," states the swordsman. "Well, now, I've entertained your questions. I'm hoping you will answer some of mine."

"Of course," I chuckle. "I was wondering when you would ask me."

"I'm not going to ask what happened, that's personal." _Well, I guess I _didn't _predict everything he'd ask me. _"But I need to know your name and why you're here. Nobody involved in something so violent and destructive is here for no reason."

"Funny you say that. I actually came here as part of a trading crew. We just landed yester... _eto_, I guess it would be last week, actually. We just landed last week and we had about a month before our next voyage, so I figured I might as well see the country. As for my name, I am called Shang Tsung."

Watsuki took a moment to carefully scrutinize my features, clearly not believing my story, looking for any sign of a lie. Though I am not used to keeping an unreadable face, memories of my late master surfaces to the top of my mind, and I am able to maintain a stony countenance. Finally, as if tired of searching, my black haired host leans back and stands up.

"Very well, stranger. Please rest and get well soon, we wouldn't want you to return to work injured. However, seeing as you did break many bones, I fear you will have to. I will go consult the town doctor to see if there is anything I can do to help hasten your recovery. If you are feeling well enough, you can stretch your legs a bit and have a look around town."

Taking my tray, he leaves the room and shuts the door. I'd tell him that I'm completely healed, but that would make me seem even stranger, and I'd rather not attract any more of his suspicions. Besides, I get free food here, and I love free food, even disgusting human food.

Left to my own devices with nothing to do, I shut my eyes and delve into the memories of my victims. I've been a bit lazy with looking through the minds of my meals for the past few months and, as such, have accumulated quite a backlog of memories to go through, even in spite of my passive ability to process the memories of my victims. There is still plenty of time before I have to leave, so there's no need to rush and take a tour of the surrounding area.

I lie down on the mat laid out for me, cover myself with a blanket, and promptly lose myself in the memories of my victims.

* * *

By the time my eyes flutter open, the window opposite of me shows the brilliant night sky, as well the trees in the courtyard dyed orange by the setting sun. The cup of tea and tray of food (sans rice!) beside me is lukewarm approaching cold, signifying that about an hour had passed since dinnertime. My stomach growls loudly to support this. Neither the coldness of the meal nor the disgustingness that usually accompanies human food stop me from hungrily devouring it. Washing down the last morsel of food with some tea, I stand up and decide to put the tray and cup back, since I have no idea where my host is.

I exit the room and go down the hallway I emerge into. The doors lining the corridor all lead into bedrooms and the windows between every second door shows the dusty courtyard outside the building, and the wall that surrounds the entire property. At the end of the hallway is the kitchen and I put down the tray on a table.

_What am I going to do for the rest of the day? There are still a few hours of daylight left, and I've been in my room all day. Maybe I'll- wait, what's that?_

It's faint, but my weak human ears can just make it out. There's a sound of metallic _clink_ing, originating from somewhere outside the house, but still close by. It's a good thing there's a sliding door in the kitchen for me to go out from, I would've hated to have to jump out a window.

As I leave the building, I see that there is another structure opposite of me, where the noises seem to be originating from. It is too big to be an outhouse or storage shed, but it must have some purpose. I run across the courtyard towards the building, excitement building in my chest. I have not felt this feeling in a long time (if not never). I can sense that something big is about to happen, something life changing, and I cannot resist finding out what.

I burst through the doors and find myself in a very plain room. Green mats line the sides of the room, while the center is completely empty. Above the mats are racks containing swords of all sizes. The flooring consists of planks, polished and cleaned so that I can see my reflected face on it. At the far end of the room is a shrine with a sign above it that reads _"Nobuhiro Kasshin-ryu". _What's eye catching about the scene before me is not the setting wherein it takes place, but the event that is going on before my eyes.

There, at the center of the room, is my host and a stranger locked in combat. When Watsuki had told me he was a sword instructor, I did not doubt him. But seeing him fight with such skill further reinforces his claims. Both combatants move extremely quickly, but still trackable by human eyes. Their footwork is impeccable and neither of them seems to be breaking a sweat despite their strenuous movements. I'm not too experienced in weapons combat, but I can tell that the stranger has the upper hand. Even though his technique is not as good, he is moving slightly faster than the black haired teacher and outmaneuvering him. I've only been watching the fight for less than a minute, but Watsuki succeeded several time in breaking the mysterious swordsman's guard. Unfortunately for my host, his opponent is always either fast enough to recover or move out of his reach before he can capitalize on the opening. If Watsuki can't find an opening in the stranger's immaculate defence, he will tire out and lose; the stranger is noticeably younger than him.

Speaking of the stranger, his attire is the strangest part of him. This mysterious swordsman is dressed in a very loose fitting, pinkish-red robe that seems a few sizes too big for him, which also exposes generous portions of his toned chest and stomach. A white sash is tied around his waist that secures his outlandish garments to his body. The sash also serves to fasten a big, white, piece of cloth around his lower body such that it resembles an ankle-length skirt. This skirt covers his legs up to his feet, which are covered by a pair of black socks and a pair of sandals.

Upon further inspection, I realize that it's not only his clothes that are strange. The stranger's features are quite noticeable as well. He has piercing blue eyes, a feature I have no seen on anyone since the Judas Priest that nearly killed me back in Outworld. He also has flowing black hair is tied back in a ponytail that reaches to his waist. This newcomer is also very short; almost two heads lower than Watsuki.

However, his short stature belies his strength as a swordsman. Even with a blade almost twice as short as my host's, his nimbleness and skill allows him to weave around the sword instructor's attacks and be able to retaliate with a few strokes of his own. The sound of their swords clashing fills the room, and the sparks that fly every time their weapons meet lights up the room as much as the sunlight filtering through the two windows that flank the doorway I am in.

When I entered the room, the fight was even; both sides tried all their best to break each other's guard. Now, however, the battle has been decided. Watsuki's age is showing in the sweat that beads his face and the heaviness of his breath. His movements are slower, and he's having a harder time keeping up with his opponent's speed. The stranger, while probably also tired, shows no visible signs of fatigue.

The sword teacher's weariness turns into desperation. His attacks are too wild and uncontrolled. He approaches his opponent with a one handed thrust and turns into a wide slash when the mysterious swordsman sidesteps it. The ridiculously dressed fighter ducks under the slash, but Watsuki pivots hard on his right foot and uses his momentum to fuel a powerful straight slash down. At that moment, the outsider's eyes light up, and I knew that the match is over. The black haired stranger swings his sword upwards, as if to challenge my host's attack with his own, but turns his sword around at the last moment and uses the pommel to knock the blow back. The impulse of the deflection unbalances Watsuki and he stumbles back, his entire front side completely exposed. The victorious swordsman dashes in and stabs upward with his blade, knocking the weapon out of the sword teacher's hands, to my great surprise. Given the choice between killing one's opponent and simply disarming him, any reasonable person would chose the former option and not give his foe a chance to rearm himself.

Even so, the battle is over. Between the pommel-strike and the suddenness of the attack, my host is unable to keep is footing and falls on his rear. The stranger steps forward and holds the tip of his sword to Watsuki's jugular but doesn't go all the way and end his life.

"Well fought," concedes the older man.

"You gave me a pretty good fight too," replies the stranger. "Much better than anyone else I've fought in a long time. Your sword technique is very good, capable of breaking my guard several times before I could adapt to your fighting style and tire you out." He lowers the sword and sheathes it.

"You have great strength," says Watsuki as he gets up from the floor. "But you rely on it too much. Were I a few years younger, and I could've ended the fight much earlier. If you would like, I could teach you a bit of my sword style."

"I would like that. However..." With such speed that my former host is unable to react, the stranger turns around and whips his sword out of its sheath, decapitating Watsuki with extreme callousness that I have not seen in anyone except myself and Shang Lao. The headless body of the stranger's last opponent slumps to the ground and a pool of blood forms promptly. His lifeless head falls to the ground a meter away and makes its own sanguine pond. Though I cannot consume the flesh of the slain sword instructor, I can feel the presence of his spirit as it tries to move into the afterlife, but I catch it with some dark magic and absorb it. His strength is delectable.

"...If I'm to perfect my killing technique, I cannot spare even a single opponent," ends the outsider.

With that, the stranger pulls out a cloth from within his robe and starts cleaning the blood off his blade. Abruptly, he freezes. He must've finally noticed my presence. He spins around and points the tip of his sword at me.

"Neither can I spare any witnesses, lest I become a wanted murderer."

Though I have seen what this man is capable of, and am unarmed, I don't fear him. I know that I can easily transform and mutilate him if I wanted to. Besides, the restlessness from being cooped up all day, combined with the energy I just gained from Watsuki is demanding that I challenge the stranger.

"You needn't worry about that," I respond. "I'm not here to report you to any authorities. In fact, your strength and skill intrigues me, and I wish to challenge you to a battle, if you're not too tired, that is."

The black haired swordsman regards me suspiciously, but cannot detect anything but my overwhelming desire to fight him. Besides, even if there was something suspicious about me that would make him not want to fight me, he has previously stated that he couldn't leave any witnesses. After a few tense of moments of staring at me, the stranger relaxes and smirks a bit. "Not at all, that previous battle isn't even to get me warmed up."

I walk over to the wall and select a sword with a weight I am comfortable with.

"Let's not delay," I say excitedly. "I want so see just how skilled you are."

"Before we start fighting," deadpans the stranger. "Are you sure you want to fight in bandages? There is no honor in killing an injured person."

"Oh, I'm not injured anymore; I just haven't had the chance to change into anything else. Besides, these bandages won't restrict my movement at all, and are rather comfortable."

"Very well then. One last thing, my name is Himura Shinta."

"There's no need to-"

"It's only honorable to give my name as a last memento to those I'm about to slay."

"In that case, my name is Shang Tsung. I look forward to our battle."

"And it's only honorable to remember the names of those who have contributed to my killing technique. Thank you for providing your name without me having to ask you."

He's confident. That's a good thing. He is also gone. I did not expect him to be able to shift from trash talking to fighting so quickly, nor did I expect him to be able to move so quickly that my eyes can barely track him. I duck instinctively, and that saves me from being chopped in half. I whirl around to meet my attacker, but he's already retreated to a safe distance from me.

"Your reactions are quick," he taunts, "that should keep you alive for a while, at least. It's good. I would not want to end it too quickly, it ruins the fun."

"I have more than just fast reflexes," I say through gritted teeth. This will be no easy battle.

"Then show it through your actions!" With that, Shinta is upon me. My sword is longer than his but, since he's so close to me, that turns out to be a disadvantage. The length of the weapon makes it unwieldy in close quarters and more than a few blows I have to physically shift my entire body to avoid. I backpedal to put some distance between me and my opponent so I can use my superior reach to my advantage, but the black haired swordsman pursues without relent. My foe's attacks are coming down even faster now, and some of his strikes are getting a bit too close for comfort. Too many times I feel the wind that his slashes create on my face. Thinking fast, I duck under his next swipe and thrust the ball of my foot into his gut, knocking him backwards. While the wielder of the killing blade is still winded, I leap at him, my blade seeking to sever his neck. His combat instincts, however, are razor sharp, and he dives under me, back to the ground, avoiding the blow, and stabs his blade upwards. I plunge my sword into the ground and, in an incredible display of upper body strength, use both my arms to pivot my entire body around the grounded weapon, dodging the raven haired fighter's lethal stab.

As I settle into a low crouch and pluck my sword from the floor, Shinta rolls onto his feet, clearly impressed by the exchange.

"You are not all talk then," says the blademaster. "That is good. The stronger the opponent that I defeat, the stronger my killing technique becomes! Come; let us create the perfect sword style together!"

_All this man thinks of his perfecting his technique, _I think as I deflect another of his attacks. I'm slowly getting the hang of how to fight my opponent effectively. By constantly dancing around him and moving erratically, I can create large gaps of distance where I can attack him without fear of retaliation with my longer blade. This strategy requires a lot of adaptation, however, as it becomes ineffective if Shinta can successfully identify my movement patterns. However, even with these opportunities that I create for myself, I cannot find a way to land a hit on him. My opponent is just as good at defence as I am. The few attacks that he cannot block, he dodges. He's also very good at thinking and adapting fast. The pink garbed swordsman is already predicting my movements, and I know that we'll be back to close range combat in a few moments. My main disadvantage besides the sword length is that I have no specific sword style that I am following. Most of my victims are untrained in combat with weapons. The bandits that I've killed use their swords without any real knowledge of sword fighting, and the few paladins I've defeated use a mixture of light magic and swordsmanship, using their magic mainly for offence and sword skills for defence. They use their defencive abilities to disarm their enemies or to create openings in their enemies' guard. While that is certainly useful, my opponent is too skillful for those tricks to defeat. I can't win by defending alone. I need to attack, but I don't know how to go about doing that. Therefore, I attack in the only way I know how to.

As Shinta swings at me again, I put my full strength into my parry. My superior strength knocks him off balance and stuns him for a moment, and a moment is all I need. Though he appears to be vulnerable, I know that he is ready to counter any attack I make with my blade. I dash in towards him and surprise him by punching him in the face with my left arm. The black haired swordsman falls backwards, but I prevent him from hitting the ground by grabbing his robe. Yanking the blademaster towards me, I knee him in the diaphragm and release my grip on his clothing to let him drop, but not without a kick in the ribs to help him with that. Sauntering up to him, I raise my right arm up high to smash his skull in, and realize that I had been holding my sword all this time with that arm. I could have killed him easily, if I had not let my hand to hand combat instincts get the better of me.

_It's not too late to finish him off, _reminds my brain. I stab downwards, seeking to impale his head, but my opponent has already recovered from my blows and rolls out of the way.

He rights himself with a push of the arms and a kick of his legs. Then, he swings his blade at me to make me back off.

"Those are not the moves of a swordsman," pants Shinta. "No one who professes to be a wielder of the sword would punch where he could instead stab, or kick where he could slice. You are no swordsman. You are just a common brawler who is too full of himself and decided to challenge a swordsman of my caliber for laughs!"

He pauses, clearly waiting for me to say something. I don't respond, it's not like I have anything to say. This seems to make Shinta even angrier.

"You think you can put me, Himura Shinta, the wielder of the killing blade, through this kind of humiliation?" growls the ponytailed fighter. "You think you can beat me up, deliberately leave me alive and then silently mock me? You've just made the worst mistake of your life. I will now show you my true power! I have been trained in swordplay by the masters of the Koshi highlanders and, on top of that, my sword is no ordinary sword, as you shall soon find out!"

The enraged swordsman raises his sword up with a shout of "Highlander!" and dashes at me with incredibly increased speed, as if he wasn't fast enough already. I need to transform my eyes and arms to keep up with his renewed assault. Thankfully my arms are wrapped with bandages so Shinta doesn't notice how red and damp my arms have become. Due to my transformation, I have no problem fending off his attacks, and my opponent seems to have noticed this too.

"How are you keeping up with my boosted speed? You must have holding back! Then maybe I should stop holding back too! First secret of the Ghostblade, Poltergeist's Ascension!"

Purple sparks fly off his sword and a ghostly purple aura surrounds Shinta, causing his eyes to appear yellow and his hair red. The powerful attunement to magic that I inherited from Shang Lao is going crazy right now. Powerful magicks are emitting from that sword, but that is not all. There is a lot more power in that sword that is not being used. This fight is not over, not even close. It's just getting started.

His arm moves in a blur. If my reactions were not as sharp as they are, my neck would've been severed by that blow. Thankfully, I instinctively lean backwards, avoiding the sweeping slash with only the tip of my nose sliced as a memento. Another strike, straight downwards. I barely raise my own sword in time to parry the attack. The strength and speed of that blow is beyond human capability. No human should be capable of this. A stab this time. I only have time to react, not dodge. I tilt my body to the side and push on the flat of the blade, deflecting the blow and knocking my opponent off balance. Simultaneously, I extend my own sword as a counterattack. Shinta spins with the momentum from my deflection and avoids my lunge, and then he whips his sword at me with a wide slash. I bring my weapon up in time to block it, but the strike is with such force that it causes me to stumble.

I'm breathing hard now, and I take a good look at my opponent. A very cocky smirk covers his face and his pupils are so dilated I can barely see them. As I stare deeper into his eyes, I see that there is something else I should be noticing, but am not. _What is it?_ He looks...he looks like...me?

Strange, but I'm able to fend off my foe right now. Perhaps I can think about this more after I defeat him.

"Your little gimmick won't work on me," I taunt. "Anything you try I can see through!"

"Is that so?" growls the possessed fighter back at me. His voice is noticeably deeper, though not by much. "Then let's see if you can see through this! Second secret of the Ghostblade, double strike!"

He sheathes his sword and bends his knees so that his body is low to the ground. The atmosphere of the room gets tenser as the sun dips below the horizon and the only illumination is provided by the fading daylight and the candles around the shrine. I can see it in his eyes: the next strike is intended to be a one-hit wonder. I'm confident that I can avoid it; I just need to watch closely. Time seems to slow down as I focus on my opponent. I can read his body to divulge all I need to know.

_Closely. His body is stock still, not a single muscle of his dares to as much as twitch. His discipline is admirable, but useless to me._

_Closer. His face is unreadable and expressionless. It is as if he is carved out of stone for all the emotion he shows._

_Closer. His eyes are pools of pure amber, but dull. It's as if all his life force is being gathered into the attack he is about to do._

_Even closer. His pupils are pits of pure darkness, but they appear to be...expanding? I see a glint in them. This is strange, this glint...it speaks of pure malevolence and wrath. I've never seen this in a human before, it is entirely foreign to their kind. They are just not naturally capable of having such a look. Why, the only other time I've seen that look was in the...mirror._

It makes sense now. How he can possible exceed all human capabilities. The Ghostblade. Poltergeists' Ascension. He's being possessed, probably by a spirit that dwells in the sword he wields. The knowledge of this makes me hesitate for a second. Only a second. A second, however, is all the dark haired blademaster needs.

The golden orbs expand and the black pit at the center dilates as a large burst of magical power emits from the Ghostblade.

Shinta moves in a blur of movement. Dashing forwards, he accelerates his blade out of his sheath, increasing the power of his blow several times. I watch the blade approach me slowly. Surely there is more to this strike than just the attack-from-the-sheath gimmick; there would be no reason to call this the double strike otherwise. _I need to watch closer._ Not the eyes this time, they can tell me nothing more. I focus my vision on the incoming blade and time seems to freeze as I peer into the secret of the double strike.

_So, that's the secret of the double strike._

Coming towards me right now from opposite directions are two identical blades, both of them are going to make contact with my neck at the same time; essentially being an unblockable attack for any ordinary human and the speed of the strike making it impossible for anyone to dodge, a true killing move. Unfortunately for my unsuspecting opponent, I am no ordinary human.

I'll have to rely on a risky trick to survive this attack; I don't have enough time to do anything else. Casting a quick spell, I grow a pair of new arms and teleport one of the swords from the rack to my hands. I swing my blades outwards, parrying Shinta's secret technique. However, my new arms were too quickly made to handle the recoil from parrying the blow, and the bones shatter. The sword I summoned from the rack clatters to the ground. The pain combined with the massive drain on my energy from casting two demanding spells in quick succession makes me incredibly fatigued. My sight fades to black for a moment and I become so lightheaded that I'm forced to kneel. My second pair of arms fades away as I'm too weak to sustain the magic needed to maintain them. I make a pitiful attempt to roll to the side in anticipation of an attack from my foe, but the attack never comes.

Regaining some of my composure, I lean on my sword to stand back up. I glance at the black haired swordsman and what I see fills me with a satisfaction I haven't had since I left Outworld. The sun has set completely now, and there is not even a faint glow of light from the west anymore, but I can still see it. A look of total disbelief and resignation is etched on his face. The aura is gone, and the sparks have faded. Himura Shinta has lost all desire to fight on. I stride over to him and hold the tip of my blade to his neck. This one's soul will be delicious, and I look forward to absorbing the spirit in the Ghostblade. The ponytailed blademaster does not even flinch in the face of death; I can at least respect him for that. I'm about to stab my sword into his throat, but something makes me hesitate, a little voice in the back of my head. It's a strange sensation that I've never felt before, and it's telling me that there is a lot more power in the Ghostblade that Shinta never tapped into, and it's linked somehow to its wielder. The voice is so convincing, so persuasive that I feel as if I am almost forced to listen to it. Relenting to the demands of the voice, I spare the defeated swordsman. Still, if I want to confirm what the voice is telling me, I will have to coax the information out of the wielder of the Ghostblade.

"What are you waiting for," says Shinta in a flat voice. He's clearly given himself up to his death. "Do it, end me."

"What happened to your confidence and defiant attitude?" I ask.

"How can I possibly fight against someone who can stop the double strike? It's not humanly possible. You're not human. People cannot dream of standing up against something from another world."

"There is something that intrigues me," I respond, lowering my blade. "I sensed greater power in your sword, power that you did not even begin to use. Why did you not?"

"What do you know about my sword? I've spent years trying to discover all the secrets of the Ghostblade. This is all the power it has ever revealed to me."

"Is that so? Then let me do some coaxing of my own..."

I reach out to take the Ghostblade in my hands, but Shinta stops me.

"You're not touching my sword until you tell me why you think there's more to this weapon than I've shown you," asserts the black haired swordsman.

"I'm born with a deep connection to the spiritual realm," I explain with a sigh. If my more recent memories about these people are accurate, they're highly superstitious and will believe anything if it's related to spirituality. "I can sense that the spirit of the sword is a lot stronger than what you've shown me."

Shinta is silent, considering what I said. After a few moments, he responds.

"You know I'll kill you once I've unlocked all its potential, don't you?"

"I know. I'm a lot stronger than what I've shown you too."

Shinta smirks. "So be it. If you want to dig your own grave, that's fine by me." With that, he hands me the Ghostblade and I take it. A chill runs down my spine as I send a burst of magic into the weapon, probing for information. The weapon responds.

_Remove the pommel._

Obliging, I turn the sword upside-down and look for a way to remove the pommel, soon realizing that I can unscrew it by turning it to the right. As soon as the cap is removed, I reach in and pull out a little scrap of paper. Shinta, who had been watching silently beside me, now leans in to take a look at my discovery. I hand him the little scroll as I put the pommel back on the Ghostblade.

"Well," I say as I turn to face the wanderer. "What does it say?"

"This makes no sense," replies Shinta as he passes the slip to me. "It's all nonsense."

I glance at the paper and see his point. The writing is in a script I've never seen before (and I have caught glimpses of the local language during my time at the port). If it wasn't for my knack for language, I would not understand either. Based on the age of the scroll, the content is probably written in an old and obsolete language. Nevertheless, I still understand what is written without a problem.

_"On the night with no darkness  
And when the sun rises in the west  
Look to the Guardian of the Depths  
And his sword shall point the way"_

"I have no clue how you read that," says Shinta in a contemplative tone. "But that still makes no sense. Night without darkness? Sunrise in the west? I didn't think that the secret to achieving ultimate power is to solve an impossible riddle!"

"Relax. It's getting late and we're both a bit tired. Let's get some rest and think about this in the morning. There's no point getting frustrated over it now."

Shinta seems to be convinced and strides out of the dojo with a shake of his head. I follow closely behind him and head to my room once we reach the house, leaving the wielder of the killing blade to his own devices.

* * *

I wake with the sun in the morning. I move quickly and with a purpose, first in search of clothes, which I tie up in a bundle and attach to a stick for ease of carrying, (there's a lot, we're about the same size) and then to the kitchen to get some breakfast. Though I went all over the house in my search, I saw no trace of my soon-to-be travelling companion.

There's not a lot of food in the pantry, but I make do. A block of tofu and some bean sprouts are all I have to fill up on, along with some tea that I brewed. After my makeshift meal, I go to look for Shinta. The house itself is not terribly big, so it doesn't take me long to comb through all the rooms to no avail. The black haired swordsman is nowhere to be seen. No matter, I can go out and ask around about the riddle myself.

I pick up the bundle of clothes and move to leave the building. I slide open the door to find myself face to face with the missing fighter. His hair is dishivelled and there are big bags under his eyes. It appears he hasn't slept all night.

"Where'd you go?" I ask in an uninterested tone. "Don't you know that travelling without sleep is extremely taxing?"

"Oh, I know that quite well," replies Shinta with a dismissive voice. "But I can't help it. I need to walk when I'm thinking."

"So the little scroll kept you from resting."

"Can I help it that I'm excited about attaining a power even stronger than the Ghostblade?"

"Even so, to forgo sleeping..."

"You don't understand, swordsmanship is my life. It's all I have. I don't know about you but when something drastic happens in my life, I get a bit worked up." The fire in his eyes convinces me that this is a subject that I ought to avoid.

"Gather your belongings," I tell him. "We're going to go ask the local people if they know anything about darkless nights and sunrises in the west."

Shinta silently disappears into the house and I go to the front gate to wait for the pink robed warrior. Watsuki taught swordsmanship, so it is best if we left quickly, before any of his students shows up and finds out about his death. After a few minutes of waiting, the wanderer returns. The enchanted blade is sheathed and strapped to his belt, and he carries another sheathed sword in his hand.

"Here," he says as he hands the weapon to me. "You're going to need a sword for our travels."

"No thank you," I decline. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself without a weapon."

"Even if you are, you're going to need this sword for our final confrontation after we unlock the secrets of the Ghostblade."

With a smirk, I accept the blade and we head out in search of answers.

* * *

Shinta plops down onto the seat with a frustrated groan. I am also tired and sit opposite from him. Currently we are in an inn, the sun lowering in the west. We spent the entire day fruitlessly asking around if anyone knew anything about our riddle, but no one had provided us with anything substantial.

"Arrrgh," growls Shinta as he pounds the table. "This is a waste of time!"

In truth, I am just as frustrated as he, but frustration will get us nowhere. I wonder if it would've been better if I just killed him and went on my own way instead of spending all this seemingly futile effort to assist this backwater swordsman in his quest for power. However, I can't forget the voice, what it told me. Power beyond imagination. Power so abundant that I'd never have to fear defeat again. Power so close that I can reach out and touch it with my fingertips. There's no way I'm quitting now.

"Calm down," I tell the frustrated swordsman. "There's got to be an answer. Every riddle has a solution."

"That's the thing. How do we know that the solution is the solution? How do we even know that this riddle is real? What if it's just a random scrap of parchment stuffed into the sword? For that matter, how did you even know that this little scroll was in my sword?"

"I told you, I can feel it. In these matters of...the spirit, you just have to trust me."

"Exactly. Nights without darkness, sunrises in the west, random bits of paper in my heirloom, these things are all beyond the scope of mere humanity. And if you knew about the riddle, then you must also know about the answers to the riddle, given that they're all of the spirit. You won't answer me now, but I know how to force it out..."

This is bad. Shinta is angry and it's affecting the way he thinks. I'm not afraid of him fighting me now, but we're in a rather crowded establishment. Even now, his raised voice is drawing attention from nearby diners. It would be a massive bother to me to have to deal with all the onlookers as well as Shinta. I have to find a way to placate the raven haired warrior.

I open my mouth to speak, but I am interrupted by someone else.

"Excuse me," says a person from our neighboring table. "Did I overhear you talking about the solstice celebration of Yamakoshi?" The man who said this is advanced in years. The remaining hair around his ears is white as snow and his skin is as wrinkled as a prune. He has the look of a travelling merchant: well dressed, a slight tan on the hands and neck area (the only areas that he keeps exposed to the sun), and his speech is very distinct from the accent of the locals.

"The what of where?" responds Shinta with a frown.

"The summer solstice celebration of the village of Yamakoshi," repeats the stranger. Seeing the confused look on Shinta's face and the curious look on mine, the merchant elaborates. "Every year, to celebrate the longest day of the year, the locals light bonfires to make everything bright as day. In this sense that night is without darkness."

I see. That...is a bit of a stretch, but it does make sense. However...

"So what about the sunrise in the west then?" I ask.

"I don't know about that," answers the merchant. "But I remember the festival well. It really does feel like daytime. And, well, if it's that bright, if you view it from the east, it might seem as if the sun is in the west."

I still have some doubts, but it's our only lead, so it's worth investigating. However, there's still the question of where the village is. Shinta handles that with a frown on his face.

"This village that hosts this celebration, which prefecture is it in?"

"If I remember correctly, it is in the Niigata prefecture."

"Of course!" exclaims the dark haired swordsman. "How could I forget?"

"You've heard about it?"

"Of course I've heard about it! The summer solstice lighting of Yamakoshi is a well-known festival in the Niigata prefecture, the place where I grew up. My parents always talked about going to see it, but we never went."

"Is that so? What is someone who grew up in Niigata doing all the way out here? It's quite a ways from home, isn't it?"

"Quite a ways away from here, is it?" I say. "How long do you think it would take for us to get there if we set out tomorrow?"

"That depends on how fast you can get around, but I would say a month is a pretty good estimate," answers our sudden informant.

I turn to Shinta and I can see the fire reignited in his eyes, the same fire that I saw when we were talking about swordsmanship. "Do you think we can make it on time for the festival?" I ask my travelling partner.

"The days are still lengthening," he replies. The excitement in his voice contrasts so starkly against his earlier dejected and frustrated tone. "And I don't know about you, but I can move pretty fast. If you can keep pace, we can reach Yamakoshi in three weeks."

"Very good," I respond with a smirk. "Let us rest here for the night and head off first thing tomorrow morning."

The meal that follows and the small conversation we make with the travelling merchant passes by pleasantly, made even more so by the definite goal we have set our sights on.

* * *

We rise bright and early in the morning. Shinta, despite not sleeping the night before and getting very little sleep tonight, is bursting with excitement and energy like a little boy being taken to the fair. We pay for our boarding and one final meal with the last of the money we took from Watsuki and go on our way. Our merchant friend is nowhere to be seen, but the cart that he showed us last night is still in the stables. He's probably going to be spending a few days selling his goods here before he moves on.

Shinta moves quickly, but I can effortlessly keep up with him. Our main problem is that we have no food or money, so we will have to constantly stop to forage for food. However, with our speed, that should not delay us by too much.

We walk silently, each preferring to keep to himself. This is how we are used to travelling: by ourselves with no one to talk to, and thus have no desire to talk to anyone.

The journey passes by uneventfully, save for one incident. This one incident, however, almost jeopardizes the entire journey.

* * *

Another day of travelling ends. We've been trekking for two weeks now, our destination must be close. Shinta says he recognizes some of the landmarks. The days are getting longer and longer, so every day we can walk a few minutes more, cover a few meters more. Each extra step seems worth it, and I can feel the anticipation building in both of us the closer we get to Yamakoshi. We've been climbing a hill all day. The road only slightly slopes upward, so we haven't gained much elevation at all, but we're almost at the crest of the hill. However, the sun is starting to hide behind the western horizon, so we should stop and make a shelter soon. We managed to find some food today, so we can eat that for dinner. Just as we start to set up our makeshift tents, however, I sense a massive malevolent presence. Shinta seems to sense this as well, and we turn to face our soon-to-be assailants.

From out of the woods steps a large group of bandits, numbering well into the thirties. Each of them armed with swords.

"What do you want with us?" calls out Shinta, hand on the hilt of his blade.

"Not much," answers the bandit at the front of the pack. Strange, he neither looks like nor feels like the leader. "But this road belongs to us, and if you want passage, then we expect a gift before we allow you to pass."

"And if we have nothing for you?"

"Then you can either scram, or you can die."

Shinta responds not with words but by drawing his sword.

"You may wish to draw your weapon," he whispers to me.

"I'm very capable of fighting without a weapon," I reply.

"So be it!" hollers the lead bandit. "We'll do it the hard way! We'll take your lives and then your possessions as our tithes. Prepare to die!"

With a roar, the bandit hoard charges at us as we rush towards them.

Shinta should be able to hold his own against these run of the mill bandits. Therefore, I focus on my own fight.

The first line of bandits split up. Three thugs advance towards me while twice that amount goes for my companion. If they think that they can take me down with less people because I'm unarmed, then they've got another thought coming.

I dodge around my assailants' attacks for a while before I make my counterattack. Grabbing the arm of the unfortunate bandit that just missed his swing, I yank him towards me and punch him in the throat hard enough to break his neck. As the lifeless man's body drops like a rag doll, I duck under a slash from behind and elbow my attacker in the diaphragm. Rising up, I turn and slam my fist into his face, breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground. The other bandit chooses now to attack me and I kick back without turning around, connecting with his shin. The pain causes the man to stumble, and I use this opportunity to grab him by his robe and fling him at the two bandits that are approaching to back them up. While my three assaulters are busy trying to untangle themselves from each other, I break the neck of the one with the broken nose as he tries to get back up.

Four more bandits arrive to reinforce the three in front of me. They move all at once, trying to surround me, but I'm faster than them. While the others circle around me, I leap straight at the bandit directly in front of me. Before he can respond, I kick in his kneecap and he drops to the ground. The two around me responds before I can finish my original target off, but that is just fine, I can kill them all slowly one by one. Stepping back to avoid their slashes, I find that the bandits have chosen a strategy of using their numbers and trying to all rush me at once. In a display of almost inhuman display of agility, I weave in between them, dodging sword swipes and futile attempts to kick me while dealing out blows of my own. A good kick here shatters one person's spine. A good punch here knocks the wind out of another one and incapacitates him for a minute. All the while I'm fighting and killing, I'm absorbing souls nonstop and I become stronger, not weaker as the battle progresses. It's been a while since I've fought like this. While fighting one on one is a true test of strength, fighting against many is a test of personal skill that I quite enjoy. One that I enjoy so much that I hardly even notice that there's only two scared bandits remaining and that the rest of them are dead, unconscious, or injured. I must have a feral look on my face, because they turn tail and run for their lives. As if I'd let them. Grabbing some fallen swords, I throw them after the fleeing cowards and the blades strike them down.

A corpse falls heavily to the ground beside me, and I glance over to see that Shinta has dealt with his entire portion as well. He seems to have doubled my kill count. There are still ten bandits left, but, after seeing our combat prowess, they seem quite reluctant to fight us anymore. Just as we're about to take the fight to them, a commanding voice booms out from beyond the hill.

"What's going on over here?"

All the remaining bandits become rigid and stock still. A hulking figure steps onto the top of the knoll. He appears to be the leader of the bandits. The man is enormous, standing almost three heads above me. He's big in girth and width as well. His size makes the sword that he carries seem like a knife. He wears a purple robe that is tucked into a pair of brown pants with an open green vest on top of the robe. He has a fur pelt of some sort wrapped around his shoulders. His messy brown hair is fairly long but doesn't pass his neck. This giant of a man has bushy eyebrows and very pronounced cheekbones. But the most striking thing about this person are his eyes. They look so devoid of emotion and so dead. It's as if, because of how many people he's killed over the years, he's killed his own humanity.

"I didn't take you fools in and train you for your looks, now explain why it's taking so long for you to extract the payment from these travellers!"

One of his henchmen rushes over to the brute and kneels before him.

"Sir, we found these two travellers on our roads and they refuse to pay the fee," reports the underling. "We tried to take the fee by force but they've repelled our efforts. Not even with all our numbers could we overwhelm them."

"You say you tried to use your advantage of numbers," rumbles the bandit leader. "But if you truly tried to do that you'd have thrown your lives at them too."

The highwayman's face blanches and he cannot find an answer.

"Pathetic," spits the hulking man. "This time, you will not back off no matter what, get it?"

The terrified minion nods in fearful gratitude, thankful that his life was spared.

"The rest of you, fall in behind me. Let's teach these sojourners that none may pass the roads of Raijuta the Terrible without paying their due respect."

The cowardly lot assembles beside Raijuta, confidence restored now that their leader is here. There are no true warriors among this pathetic rabble, so their souls won't be so powerful, but still useful nonetheless.

Shinta nudges me with the hilt of his sword. He has a fierce look of a predator that has finally tracked down an elusive prey.

"I'll take the leader," he murmurs. "You handle his henchmen. Do not interfere no matter what. This fight must be between me and him."

"You know him?" I ask.

"There's a personal score that I have to settle with him."

"Very well."

Purple sparks fly out of the Ghostblade, but I notice something different this time. When he used the Ghostblade against me, his chi changed slightly (so slightly that I did not even notice it until I was able to compare it against his chi now). This time, his chi did not change at all, despite invoking the Poltergeist's Ascension.

Like a beam of light, Shinta flies at the bandit leader, who blocks his attack casually, seemingly unsurpised and unimpressed by the dark haired swordsman's display of speed and power. With a mighty swing the brown haired mugger flings Shinta away and leaps after him to continue their fight. The other bandits hurry to help their leader, but I step in front of them, blocking their way.

"You would all rather fight my partner than me? I'm insulted."

They look at each other incredulously before sneering and all rushing at me.

The bandits come at me one after another, swinging wildly. I sidestep their attacks until I see an opening to counterattack on one of them. Dodging a vertical slash, I grab onto my assailant's arm and twist until his arm pops out of its socket. As he screams in pain, I take a hold of his robes and swing him behind me, bodyblocking a slash. I throw the body down, pulling the sword out of the second bandit's hand. I punch him once in the face and multiple times with quick jabs in the upper body, making sure to hit all of his vital pressure points to ensure that he'll die. Three of them come at me at once while the others form a ring around us, as their unable to join the fight without risking hurting each other.

The three bandits have me surrounded, and they all slice horizontally at me from different elevations, ensuring that I can't dodge by moving to the side or back. Therefore, I take the only remaining option and jump up and over the bandits. Landing behind them, I hit one in the neck with all my strength and he collapses like a pile of bricks. Using magic, I slow down the movements of one of the bandits while I focus on the other. I kick his sword out of his hands and grab his neck. Strangling the life out of him would be too slow, so I slam him into the ground and stomp on his head with enough force to shatter his skull. I relax the spell on the remaining bandit and he stumbles due to his sudden increase in speed. As he faceplants onto the ground, all six other robbers attack me at once. I somersault backwards to gain some distance, and then pick out the easiest to take down.

One of the bandits is much shorter than the rest and he's pretty far behind the rest of the group. I kick off from my spot, surprising the oncoming assailants. I dash past the main group and punch the lagging man square in the chest, breaking his sternum and collapsing a lung. The critically injured bandit crumples as he struggles to breathe.

I take the offensive now as the main group charges at me. Leaping over a wild slash, I kick the bandit in the face. Dropping low, I avoid another horizontal swipe as I sweep out a pair of legs. Rising up explosively, I punch an attacker in the jaw, shattering it.

Another bandit comes at me with a stab. I sidestep the attack and shatter his ribs with a powerful punch. While he is stunned by pain, I grab ahold of his head and yank with all my strength, ripping it off from the neck.

Two bandits charge me from opposite sides. I duck under their stabs and yank on their arms, using their momentum against them. They lose control and cannot stop, impaling each other.

A savage roar from the right alerts me to the attack of another bandit. He's a big man (though not as big as his leader) who clearly thinks with his muscles. The brute approaches with wild slashes, hoping his desperation and sheer strength can save him. He's dead wrong. I keep avoiding his attacks, constantly trying to get behind him. The big bandit turns to keep me in front of him, but that's where he made his mistake. I've been constantly increasing my speed a little bit every time I try to flank him and he doesn't notice. This gargantuan clearly takes too much pride in his huge upper body muscles and his legs are underdeveloped. They can't support the constant strain of this much pivoting. With a sickening crunch his knee joint dislocates and he collapses to the ground. Mercilessly I hop on top of him and snap his neck.

The final enemy loses his courage as his ally falls. Dropping his sword, he tries to run away as fast as he can. As if I'd let any one of them go. Drawing on my magic, I form a ball of pure hellfire and launch it at the retreating coward. The flames twist to form the likeness of a skull and the conflagration reduces the bandit to a charred skeleton.

Now that I've dealt with all of my immediate assailants, I go back and make sure that everyone is dead by breaking the necks of every body that litters the road. Strangely, Shinta is nowhere to be seen and I cannot hear any sounds of battle. There are no tracks going into the woods, and two people locked in a sword fight would definitely leave signs. They must have gone over the kill. Running up the path in the dying daylight, I can only imagine that the worst has happened and I must continue on alone.

Relief crashes over me as I crest the hill. Shinta is sitting with his back to me, facing the corpse of Raijuta. The giant's sword is plunged into his chest and he is missing his head. Shinta's own sword is sheathed and propped up on his shoulder. The black haired swordsman seems unscathed.

"Ah, good," I say as I walk up to him. "It seems the bandits have been wiped out. Let's get these bodies off the road and then let's go get some rest."

"You go on ahead," he whispers, barely audible. "I need some time alone."

Wordlessly I nod and head back over the hill. We've travelled together enough so that I know when to respect him and give him some room. It is better that I remove the corpses alone anyways, I wouldn't want him to see me using magic. With a big burst of wind, I blow the bodies into the forest, along with all of our travelling supplies. I utter a curse and head into the woods in search for them. Although the sun has set, I conjure up a magical light and find our food and tents quickly. In half an hour I've set up the tents, made a fire and finished my meal. Shinta will join me when he's ready. I close my eyes and go to sleep.

* * *

Another dawn, another day. Shinta isn't back yet and his food is untouched. I eat it and take down the tents. We're out of food again, so we're going to have to keep our eyes peeled for that today. Hefting the bags, I go up the hill. Shinta has not moved, still in the same position in front of the dead bandit. The body is starting to decay and the stench is attracting flies, but the swordsman doesn't seem to notice or care. I walk to his side and sneak a glance at him. His bangs are covering his eyes, giving him an ominous look. I can tell, however, from his slump that he is more depressed than anything else.

"Let's go," I simply state. There's nothing more to say. However he's feeling, we have a place to go and things to do. As I start down the hill, I notice that I can see several plumes of smoke beyond the next hill. There's no fire though (as one would expect of a wildfire), so that means we're near civilization.

"Come on!" I call to my partner. "We're almost there!"

Shinta mumbles something quiet that I am just unable to distinguish.

"Pardon?" I ask as I walk up to him. I take a seat beside him and get ready for some serious talk.

"I said I don't wanna," he says.

"You don't want to what?"

"I don't wanna do this anymore."

"What do you mean? Isn't this your life ambition? To become the strongest swordsman ever to live? Your goal is finally within grasp and you're going to call it quits?"

"Yes."

"But swordsmanship is your life, you said it yourself. Why would you-"

"THAT'S RIGHT!" Shinta shouts. "SWORDSMANSHIP _IS _MY LIFE! AND THAT'S WHY I DON'T WANNA DO THIS ANYMORE! BECAUSE SWORDSMANSHIP IS WORTHLESS!"

"How can you say that? You've devoted your entire life to it-"

"And that's why I'm so utterly crushed right now," weeps the wielder of the Ghostblade. His voice is broken and, though he tries to suppress his tears, they're rolling down his cheeks. "I've spent my life pursuing a worthless goal. Fifteen years wasted in a fruitless, meaningless chase after the wind."

"Maybe you should tell me the whole story. Start at the beginning. Tell me exactly why you think all our striving have been for naught."

Shinta hesitates. The full details are clearly very personal, something he's never shared with anyone before. Asking him now to tell me is a huge intrusion on his privacy, but something that must be done if I want to knock that defeated attitude out of him.

"Let's just go," mumbles the dejected warrior. He gets up and heads down the trail towards Yamakoshi. The total lack of drive and motivation that is evident in his stance is worrying. The voice did, after all, tell me that the secret to unlocking the full power of the Ghostblade depends on Shinta. If I want my hands on that power, I need Shinta, and I need him as he was during the fight with Watsuki: strong, confident, and determined. For the sake of that goal, I will need to bring him out of his depression. I follow after the blademaster on the road to Yamakoshi.

* * *

The sun is setting once again. Even after a full day of travelling, we are still not at our destination yet. The smoke is still in front of us, infuriatingly close and yet so far away. It seems that I've misjudged the distance to the village. As reluctant as I am to spend another day outside of the site of the solstice lighting, it would be no good for us to arrive there without rest. We'll set up camp for today.

Shinta pitches the tents as I start a fire. Luckily for us, I managed to shoot down a bird today with a good toss of a rock. It's not so big, but at least it's something; we haven't eaten for two days now. As I roast the fowl, Shinta drags a stone over and plops down on it. We spend a few moments in silence, watching the bird roast.

"I wasn't always a killer, you know?" begins Shinta as he stares at the fire with a pensive look on his face.

"No one is born a killer," is what I'd like to say, but I remain respectfully silent as I continue to listen.

"A long time ago I was part of a happy family," continues the depressed blademaster. "I had loving parents and two brothers. I can't remember how we made a living anymore, but we weren't rich and we weren't poor either. We made enough money to live comfortably and happily.

"My younger brother died of flu when he was five; I was eight at the time. My brother's death really shook up my father, and he started training my older brother in swordsmanship. Father said that our bloodline always had a warrior in every generation and that now was the time for the next generation to rise. Looking back now, I think the death of my little brother made dad realize just how old he was and how quick life passes away.

"I always wanted to join in, the little attention seeker that I was, but dad would always say that the style of swordsmanship passed through our family had always been taught to the firstborn son. He said that swordsmanship is a burden that I should be relieved to be free from and that I could grow up leading a normal lifestyle. I was never satisfied by those words, and I soon realized how wrong they were as well.

"When I was ten, our family decided to go on a vacation. We travelled down this exact road, and we were held up by highwaymen. My brother, who had quickly become proficient at the sword, and father decided to fight instead of giving up our money. Though they were able to fight the bandits at first, they could not stand up to their leader. The leader of the robbers killed my brother and father with such...grace...and...well, beauty. It sounds weird, but the way he moved, the way his sword moved, it was beautiful. They died before they knew what hit them and even the way their bodies fell apart was beautiful to me. My father's sword dropped at my feet and I numbly picked it up. I knew at that moment that that man possessed something special, the killing blade. I also knew that I wanted to be able to do something like that, something so beautiful. I stood there in awe at the magnificence of the killing blade, unaware that the bandits were coming closer. It was only when my mother threw herself in front of me and told me to run that I came to my senses. All the emotions that should have been hitting me hit me then, and I was running before I knew what I was doing. My mother stayed behind to make sure that the bandits would not catch me, and I can only assume that she died on that day.

"Blindly, I ran and ran and ran until I could run no more and then I collapsed out of exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep. I was lost in the forest and had no way out, but my survival instincts were sharp. I wandered the woods for two weeks to no avail. I was hungry and thirsty and cold and scared. I knew that I would die in a week if I could not find a way out and that knowledge terrified me. Since the death of my little brother my strongest desire was the desire to live, and now death seemed inevitable. I prayed to anyone, anything to save me, and I got an answer. My father's sword that I had taken with me glowed purple and the voice of the Ghostblade talked to me. In exchange for my life, I would have to one day set it free. Of course, I had no idea how to set it free. I didn't even know what was talking to me, but I knew I wanted to live, so I took that offer. The purple glow of the sword enveloped me and the next thing I knew, I was at home.

"That brought me no comfort though, as, without my family, I had nothing now. All the food in the house had rotted, but I still enjoyed a bath and a change of clothes before leaving my childhood home forever. I only had one goal now: to master the killing blade that I saw the bandit wield. I wandered the roads for a month trying to find someone to teach me swordsmanship, but no one would take me. I had no food, no home and no master. One rainy day, tired and hungry, I collapsed. I was saved, however, by a stroke of luck. Some travellers found me and nursed me back to health. As it so happened, they were a group of swordsmen too! I explained that I was an orphan and that I wanted to be a warrior, like them. After a month of rejection, I didn't expect them to say yes.

"I spent ten years training with the Koshi highlanders and I became quite adept at the art of the blade. I wasn't satisfied though, I knew that I still lacked the killing blade. Thus, I decided to travel the country, challenging other swordsmen to forge the killing blade I wanted out of blood. I bid farewell to the highlanders and set off on my journey. For five years I travelled the country, going from town to town in search of renowned swordsmen. I made sure to duel all my opponents in private, as my killing blade could only grow stronger if I killed my opponent, and I didn't want to antagonize the public. The opponents I couldn't beat with my own skill I beat with help from the Ghostblade. No warrior could stand up to the double strike. I could feel myself growing stronger after each fight, but I still wasn't satisfied though. I still lacked the true killing blade, and I didn't know why. It was frustrating.

"Then I met you, the first warrior that could block the double strike. I thought I would die, but you not only spared me but showed me that a way to become even stronger. I thought that if I could achieve that power, I could perfect the killing blade, but then we met those bandits.

"I recognized the leader. He was the man who had slain my father and brother all those years ago. I knew that I had to face him. We fought and..."

Shinta was silent for a moment, just staring at the fire. Then he wrenched his gaze away and looked at me.

"I struck him down with ease. I didn't understand. Sure, fifteen years had passed but that brute looked no older than he did on the day we first met. I was certain that he still maintained the skill he had back then; I knew that he possessed the true, perfect killing blade. But I killed him, with my killing blade, my false, imperfect killing blade. I didn't understand how I did it, but I understand now. I had long surpassed him. I had already mastered the killing blade, I just didn't know it. Now I realize just how deceptive and meaningless my lifelong pursuit had been. I've wasted fifteen years of my prime chasing after something that I will never attain, something I or anyone can ever attain. And now that I've wasted my life, I have nothing else. Father was right; swordsmanship is a burden that I never should have taken up. How can I ever repay all the people whose lives I took for nothing? How can I repay all the families whose lives I've ruined? I have nothing but swordsmanship, and that too is worthless. My whole existence is pointless!"

The dark haired wanderer seems to have said his piece. Now it's time for me to speak.

"You say swordsmanship is all you have, and that much is true. However it is not true that your swordsmanship is worthless. There are many people who would find your skills to be valuable. Many lords would seek to make you their bodyguard. Or you could do as Watsuki did and start a school to teach people the art of the sword. You can rebuild your bloodline and the honor of your bloodline. No matter what you do, do it with conviction and with all your heart. Then you can live meaningfully and without regrets."

Shinta mulls over my words as I take the bird off the spit. The smell of the meat is strong and I'm salivating hard. I take out the sword we took from Watsuki's house and begin splitting the bird in half.

"Thank you Shang," murmurs my companion. "Your words have given me hope. Perhaps it is not too late for me to lead a normal life of integrity and honor."

"You can repay me by find that secret power of the Ghostblade. Now are you going to eat your food?"

Shinta wastes no time in wolfing down his portion.

* * *

By the time we enter town, the sun is already starting to dip below the horizon. The two of us arrive at Yamakoshi one week before the solstice, so we're going to be staying here for a while. However, we have no money, so we head to a local inn. The village is probably swelling with people coming to see the festival, so we can easily exchange our help for food and maybe some money. Lodging is less of a problem as we're both used to sleeping outside.

"Look at all the wood they're gathering," says Shinta as he points at a large pile of wood. There are plenty of similar stacks all over the town. "Look at this whole town! The brilliantly colored decorations! The euphony of sounds as people practice for their performances! The smell of food as people prepare for the feasting a week ahead of time! I won't lie; I'm actually pretty excited about this festival. My parents always talked about taking us to see it, but now I'm actually here. I can feel the excitement pool in my stomach in the same way it does before I fight."

"That's nice," I reply. "But we won't be able to see the solstice lighting up close. We have an ancient power to unlock. Speaking of which, we still have to figure out what _the Guardian of the Depths_ mean."

"We have a whole week to figure that out. In the meantime, let's take our time and relax!"

I sneak a glance at Shinta. His face is happy and he's smiling a small but genuine smile. I've never seen him so carefree before, it's as if he's a different person now. He's changed, and not for the better. If the black haired swordsman has let go of trying to perfect his killing blade, will he still be as ruthless as he once was? I have a sinking feeling that, even though Shinta's strength as a person increased, his strength as a warrior decreased. His soul is worth less to me now. If only I had taken his soul when we had first met!

Finally, we arrive at the local inn. We open the door and enter. The place is bustling with people and filled with liveliness. Even though there is a whole week before the solstice celebration, people are arriving from all over the land right now. Such a large gathering of people (and thus, their knowledge) will surely help us figure out who or what _the Guardian of the Depths_ is. Perhaps it is best to start asking the locals first before turning to outsiders for information. After all, if the first two lines of the riddle directed us to this village, then the third line ought to be in the same vein.

Maybe the innkeeper will have some information. I walk up to the innkeeper's counter with Shinta trailing behind me.

"Excuse me," I begin. "You look like you could use some help. We'd be willing to work as hired hands if you can pay us with food or money."

"Oh, help?" says the busy innkeeper as he runs around trying to keep up with his work. He is advanced in ages and is very haggard. The little hair he has congregates at the side of his head and a white mustache dangles from his upper lip. "Much appreciated. The kitchen staff needs some help and there are always tables to be cleared and cleaned. We'll discuss wages afterwards."

My questions will have to wait until after we get our work done.

* * *

I collapse into my seat with a weary sigh. The inn is horribly understaffed and ill-suited to deal with such a large volume of guests. Shinta and I, along with all of the other poor fellows that work here, have been running around non-stop working for our lives for the past three hours. Finally, all the people have left to go to their rooms and we are able to clean up and enjoy a hot meal.

Without much ado, I dig into my food, as does Shinta. The food is devoured in a matter of seconds. The bird we ate yesterday did nothing to whet our appetites.

"Hey there strangers," greets the worn out innkeeper as he pulls out a chair and sits down beside us. "I'm very grateful for your help today. You mentioned that you are looking for a job as hired hands?"

"Yes, we did," I answer while struggling to swallow my mouthful of food. "We are travellers here to see the famed solstice lighting of this village, but we have no money for food or lodging. We would like to work for you in exchange for meals."

"Just providing you with food doesn't sound like enough compensation for your work. I'd like to add some extra payment in rice to you, but all the rice is currently being used to pay customers."

"We're fine with taking money."

"Very well. Will ten copper piece per person per day sound suffice?"

"Yes, it does," chimes in Shinta. "Thank you."

"No, thank you," replies the innkeeper with a smile.

"One more thing," I say as our new boss turns to leave. "Would you know anything about _the Guardian of the Depths_?"

"Ah, you've heard about _the Guardian of the Depths_ as well? How much do you want to know about it? There's a very rich history behind that statue which would require quite a lot of explanation, and it's pretty late right now."

The _Guardian _is a statue? "We'd just like to know where it is. Perhaps you can tell us more about it another day."

"Of course. The statue is in the eastern foothills. There should be a little path that leads from the town straight to it."

"Thank you for the information."

"Regrettably, all the rooms have been filled, even the employee rooms, so I cannot offer you two a place to stay for the night-"

"That's quite alright," replies Shinta with a smile. "We're used to sleeping outside anyways. Thank you again for your courtesy."

The innkeeper gives us a polite bow as we leave the building. We circle around to the back of the inn and set up camp for the night.

* * *

We work ourselves to death every day until the day of the solstice. More and more people from outside Yamakoshi keep arriving until the second building (there's an unused building behind the inn that's specially used to hold the extra influx of people that arrive during the solstice celebration) has to be used to hold all the guests, and our lives become even more hectic. Running back and forth between two buildings and running up and down stairs exhausts us until we want to do nothing more than to lie down and fall asleep. For six days, all thoughts of the Ghostblade's power are banished from my mind, buried under the weariness of harsh work.

Finally, after the morning of the seventh day, we get a break. Today is the day of the lighting, and the preliminary events are already beginning. After dealing with the breakfast crowd and tidying up all the rooms, the old man (as everyone calls him) allows all the workers to have a day off and enjoy the festival.

"Hey old man," I call out before Shinta and I leave. "How long do you think it will take for us to get to the statue of _the Guardian_?"

"You two sturdy lads should be able to get there in thirty minutes from here," answers the innkeeper. "Which reminds me, would you like to know more about the history behind the statue?"

"I'm not interested," says Shinta dismissively. "What about you, Shang?"

"I think I'll listen."

"Then I'll see you out on the streets." With that, the dark haired blademaster heads out and shuts the door behind him.

"I wouldn't want to keep you for too long," begins the old man. "So I'll give you a rather condensed version of the story.

"A hundred thousand years ago, during the dark ages when demons walked the lands and the gods were at war, humanity was on the verge of extinction. The battle of the celestial beings caused massive natural disasters that devastated the face of the earth. Not only that, but legions of demons poured out of a rip in the fabric of the universe, connecting our realm with the Netherrealm, the plane of the dead.

"There lived a man called Seijuro who was a swordsman of unparalleled skill. Though his mastery of the blade was tremendous, he could not save his village or his family from the clutches of the demon hordes. Distraught, the man vowed to rid the word of the demonic invaders. Knowing that he did not have the strength he needed to carry out his mission, he sought the aid of the gods. One god, the god of thunder, heard his request and bequeathed unto him a sacred sword and the god's personal blessing.

"Seijuro spent the next two years travelling the lands purging demons wherever he went, but there were always more being spawned every day. He knew that if he wanted to truly rid the world of the demons, he would need to seal the rip. Once more he turned to the gods to help him close the hole between our world and the world of the dead.

"The thunder god appeared to him once more and offered his aid in sealing the dimensional gap. The thunder god would cast the spell that would close the hole while Seijuro would hold off the demon army. So it was that the two of them travelled to the site of the tear, where the largest concentration of demons were to be found. For three days straight Seijuro fought off the hordes of hell while the thunder god slowly sealed the portal shut. Thought Seijuro had accomplished his goal, it came at the price of his life. Mortally wounded after his battle with the demonic armies, the man passed away.

"The statue, _the Guardian of the Depths_, was erected at the site of Seijuro's death in commemoration of his deeds.

"So, what business do you have with _the Guardian of the Depths_?"

"My companion and I received a riddle that involves that statue," I say, not wanting to give away too much information. The old man respects that and probes no more. "Thanks for your time, old man."

The innkeeper gives me a slight bow as I head out to catch up to Shinta and enjoy some festivities before sunset comes.

* * *

After hours of music, dancing and fried food, the sun is finally setting and the torches are being lit. The huge bonfires are not yet kindled and at the town square there are some bigshots giving speeches. Shinta and I use this time to slip away and head out to find the statue of Seijuro. We walk together in silence, the narrow footpath leading to the statue only allows single file travel. The elevation steadily increases as we walk past fields of tall grass. Finally, we are a good distance away from the village such that we can see the entire town, and the hill we've been climbing plateaus out. The trail comes to an end at a clearing of a grove of trees. There is a stone figure at the center of the clearing.

The old man is pretty accurate in his predictions. We have arrive at the statue in approximately half an hour.

The statue is huge, it is about a head taller than Raijuta. Like Raijuta, the man depicted by this statue is wide and monstrously muscular. His long hair is tied back into a ponytail that reaches his waist. Though the stone does not give away the color, the man is shown to be wearing a large, capelike overcoat over a loose fitting yukata. Though the statue faces north, the sword in its right hand is slightly tilted to the east.

The sun has not completely set yet and the bonfires have not been lit yet. We wait together in silence until Shinta breaks it.

"Back when I had killed Raijuta, I felt so hopeless," says the raven haired wanderer. The statue must've reminded Shinta of the bandit leader as well. "My life had been for nothing and I felt like I had nothing left to live for. I was so ready to take my life, but you saved me. You gave me hope to continue living on. And now that I've begun to live life for my own convictions and desires, the world seems like such a brighter place. I'm smiling and laughing again. It feels like forever since I've last done that."

Shinta turns and looks me in the eyes. "Shang Tsung, I am honored to call you my friend."

The last bit of sun dips below the western mountains and the piles of wood are ignited just as the blademaster says this. The light of a hundred fires light up the valley that Yamakoshi is situated in bright as day. Though the beacons of fire are spread out around the mountains that surround the village, from our vantage point, the flames from the west looks like a sunrise. The sudden increase in brightness brings our thoughts back to the riddle.

"_His sword shall point the way,_" I muse. "Let's go in the direction that the sword is pointing."

Shinta silently complies and we head off into the trees in search of the secret of the Ghostblade.

We scour the forest for almost an hour in search of anything that might seem unnatural or out of place, but find nothing. Shinta is frustrated, but manages to keep his frustration in check, a testament to how much he's changed.

"We must be missing something," says the black haired swordsman. "There must be something in the riddle that will lead us to the exact location of the Ghostblade's true power. The first and second lines gives us an idea of where we should look, and the third and fourth lines narrow it down even more. There must be something we're overlooking that narrows down the location even more."

"Perhaps we are," I say. "_The night with no darkness_ and _when the sun rises in the west _refers to a time period. But why would knowing the time be important to discovering the location of the secret location of the Ghostblade's true power? Unless..."

"What are you thinking?" inquires Shinta.

"Maybe there's something that only happens now that will be crucial to us finding the answer to this riddle."

"Well, the biggest thing that only happens today would be the solstice lighting, and I don't see how that helps us."

The Guardian. _Sunrise in the west. The sword. Only today. Solstice lighting. "Sunlight" from the west. Points the way. _It all makes sense to me now.

"Shadows!" I cry, startling Shinta who is equally as deep in thought as me. "We gotta hurry back to the statue, I've figured out how to solve the riddle!"

My swordsman friend, though confused, follows me as we run back to _the Guardian of the Depths_.

We burst through the trees and skid to a halt in front of the statue of Seijuro. I look at the ground and trace the shadows of the stone figure past the grove of trees we're standing in.

"This way!" I shout as I take off. Shinta follows closely behind me.

"The shadow of the sword," I explain as we run. "We have to follow the shadow of the sword. See, the only thing that happens now that doesn't happen normally is the solstice lighting. During this time, we have extremely bright, unnatural light from the west. The statue is positioned perfectly such that when the light strikes it from the west, its shadow will be clearly cast on the ground to our east. The tip of the shadow sword should lead us to the secret we've been searching for."

"I don't know how you came to this conclusion," says Shinta. "But I'll trust you. Let's go find out the true power of the Ghostblade."

The shadow of the statue of Seijuro extends beyond the trees of the grove that houses the statue all the way to the rocky footsteps of the eastern mountains. Out here, there is very little vegetation save for a few patches of grass and some low bushes. The elevation gradient is much more pronounced here and the landscape is mainly dominated by rocks and boulders, a perfect place for someone to hide a secret tunnel or something.

The shadow of the statue goes no further, so I stop and look for the shadow imprint of the sword.

_There it is._

The sword hangs directly over a bush jutting out of the slope of the mountain. This will lead us to the secret of unlocking the full potential of Shinta's sacred sword. I look for anything that might be unnatural about this bush, but there is nothing to be found, not on, in, or around the bush.

"Arrrgh, another dead end?" growls Shinta. In frustration, he thrusts his heirloom blade into the bush, and purple light erupts out of it. The ground beyond the bush parts and reveals a yawning, black tunnel. There are stairs leading into the depths of the passage, so it is clearly intended for human travel.

"Wow, didn't expect that to happen," admits Shinta sheepishly. "Let's go find out what's inside." He removes the sword from the bush and tries to go into the hole, but the ground slams shut again.

"Seems like you'll have to leave the Ghostblade outside," I observe.

Though the swordsman's face is slightly perturbed, he does not object and we head inside the tunnel.

The way down is quite steep, so that even though the ceiling is not very high, we do not have to stoop. Rocks that glow a faint blue illuminate the passage so we do not slip and fall, even after the light from outside has faded away. Finally, the ground beneath us becomes level again and we arrive at what appears to be the central cavern of a huge cave system. Big, glowing, blue gems light up the cavern so that we can just barely see. There are various tunnels in the far walls that lead off into the darkness. At the center of the cavern, however, is a sword with its tip buried deeply in a rock. I can feel a powerful presence in the sword. The amount of power encased in that weapon is overwhelming, several hundred times stronger than the Ghostblade.

"That's...the Ghostblade?" observes Shinta. Now that I think about it, the sword in the rock does look almost exactly the same as the sword we left outside.

"It's calling to me," he continues. "The sword is calling to me as if it recognizes me." The entranced swordsman steps toward to the sword slowly and hesitantly. Shinta comes to a stop in front of the mysterious sword. He raises a hand, as if to touch it, but pauses. The sword glows a light, ghostly blue, the same color of blue as the rocks that illuminate this room.

"Pull it out," I encourage. "I can feel the power of the sword from here."

Strengthening his resolve, Shinta wraps both hands around the hilt of the strange weapon and pulls. The sword slips out of the rock with ease and the successful blademaster tries out a couple of test swings with the sword.

"This is amazing!" cries the joyous swordsman. "The power, it flows through my veins! I've never felt like this before! I-"

Sparks of blue lightning erupts out of the sword and wraps itself around Shinta, stopping him mid-sentence. His mouth drops open in a silent scream as a brilliant blue flash burst out of the sword, forcing me to look away. Hurricane force winds explode from the mystical weapon and I am blown back to the stairs.

Finally the wind dies down and I can turn around. Shinta is in bad shape. His eyes are rolled back completely and he's barely breathing. There must've been some protective spell place on the sword that we were unaware of. That's too bad for him.

I pick up the sword. Whatever spell that did that to Shinta must've been exhausted, because nothing happens to me. If the demon in the Ghostblade is strong enough to conjure a spell that allows an above average swordsman to strike twice at once, then the spirit of this sword will give me a lot more power.

I send a probing jolt of magic into the blade, and am amazed by what returns to me.

This sword isn't like the Ghostblade, which housed a single demon. This sword, Sento, holds all the souls of the Himura bloodline, from Seijuro to Shinta's father, Shishio. All of these once great warriors that have passed on now rest in this sword and offer their strength to their descendants if they ever need it. This cave, then, must be the burial grounds of Shinta's ancestors.

An evil smirk flashes across my face.

_Their souls are mine!_

Green energy gather around my hands as I suck up all the souls that reside within this holy weapon. Viridescent light pours out of my eyes and mouth as the combined strength of the Himuras fill me.

_This is amazing! The power! I am unstoppable!_

All too soon the sensation of being the king of the universe is over, and I toss aside the useless weapon. I feel as if my powers have just doubled. I see the world in such clear detail now. Even in spite of the poor illumination, I can see the entire cavern clear as day. In fact, I can even see each individual jar that hold the ashes of deceased swordsman in the tunnels that lead away from this main cavern.

Satisfied with the power I've gained, I go to leave this forsaken cave, when I remember something.

My eyes settle on the body of Shinta. Since our first fight, I have wanted to take his soul but our quest for Sento has kept him safe. Now, I am free to take it. I stretch out my hand to suck up his spirit.

_Shang Tsung, I am honored to call you my friend._

I stop. Why do I hesitate? Do I consider this _human _a friend? Surely not. What use do I have for friends? No...I'm not taking his soul because...because he's weak now. He's no long ruthless and become soft, losing his warrior spirit. There's no point in me taking his soul.

I turn and rush out of the cave without further delay. Even if I had taken his soul when we had first met, when he was at his strongest, one more soul to this collection of thousands will make no difference. I'm already invincible.

I pop out of the hole in the ground and try to pull out the Ghostblade, but it has become dull and will not move. So be it, taking the spirit of the Ghostblade will not help me much anyways.

The first light of day is starting to appear over the mountains, but dark, angry-looking storm clouds are rolling in from the north. I'd better find some cover. I can't go back to the inn because I can't explain the absence of Shinta. Besides, I should get going anyways. This island nation of _riben _is almost as uneventful as the middle kingdom, but smaller.

As I make my way down the face of the mountain, strong winds starting blowing from the north. Little drops of water are falling from the first clouds that have made it overhead, and a massive storm is about to begin.

I have not even made it to the grove of trees where _the Guardian of the Depths _is when a bright flash of lightning blinds me, followed immediately by a deafening clap of thunder. A bolt of pure white electricity strikes the ground before me and a man emerges from the blast zone. He wears a simple white robe over a black bodysuit and dons a peasant's rice hat on his head. This man's eyes are blank, pure white like his clothing, and his expression is furious.

**"Shang Lao," **booms the mysterious man. **"I have been forced to put with your evil deeds because of the Divine Sanctions, but this trespass demands retribution!"**

The white clad man shoots a bolt of lightning at me from his hands, but I jump out of the way. A rock that is behind me gets blown into oblivion.

**"The Divine Sanctions normally prevent us gods from meddling in the affairs of humans, but this is an exception. For the crime of stealing the souls of the gods ordained protectors of Earthrealm, you must be punished!"**

The thunder god fires another blast of lightning, which I tumble out of the path of.

"I am not Shang Lao," I snarl as I begin my transformation. If I'm going to fight a god, I will need my full power in demon form. I grow in height and girth as my skin turns red. Black horns protrude from the side of my head as my face elongates and my teeth sharpens. My nails turn into black claws and my spine protrudes out of my back, forming a tail. "I AM SHANG TSUNG!" I scream as I lunge at the god.

**"And I am Raiden," **deadpans the oblivious thunder god as he slams me into the ground with his elbow. **"Names matter not to me. I know your presence, sorcerer, and I will eradicate it. This is not the first time you have committed atrocious crimes against the Earthrealm, but it will be your last."**

I push myself up and throw a left hook at the god. He casually tilts his head to the side and dodges the punch and retaliates with a left hook of his own. His fist smashes into my face, knocking me away. I grind to a rough halt and hop back to my feet. Just two hits from this god and I feel as if I've just been thrown at a mountain.

With a snarl I rush at Raiden again, trying to lop his head off. The thunder god snap kicks me in the face and follows that up with two quick jabs to the ribs and a electrified-double palm strike to the abdomen. I'm sent flying once more with blood flying out of my mouth and nose. I do a flip midair to right myself, but just as my feet touch the ground, Raiden flies through the air like a torpedo and crashes into me, sending me skidding along the ground. Thankfully, I manage to stay upright and I retaliate with a roundhouse kick of my own. My opponent ruthlessly stops my leg with one hand while using the other one to punch my kneecap in. With a scream I fall the ground, clutching my ruined leg. Raiden uses this opening to shoot bolt after bolt of electricity at me and my body involuntarily jerks and spasms as millions of volts of electricity are channeled into my body. The merciless deity does not stop until I stop moving.

Smoke rises from my charred body, and I am unable to move, though I am still alive. Barely. Raiden seems to know this as well.

**"Killing you would be too soft of a punishment for you," **spits the god of thunder. **"I have something much worse in mind. Your crimes are many, Shang Lao, and you have made enemies of gods of many realms, not just this one. Particularly the Outworld gods. Now, the gods of Outworld and Earthrealm will think of a punishment befitting of one such as yourself."**

Raiden points his hand towards the heavens and a bolt of lightning strikes it. Nine other figures materialize from the white plasma that flows from his hands. There is a being of pure fire, one of pure earth, and one of pure water. There is a dark-skinned man with slicked back white hair tied into a ponytail and eyes similar to Raiden. He wears a black vest and green pants with boots. Those four, I assume, are the gods of Earthrealm, because the other five figures are simply grotesque. One of them looks just like me, except without horns or claws and wears only a simple fur loincloth. Another one has black pits for eyes and a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. Black blades protrude from his forearms and he wears only a white skirt. Yet another is simply a giant, bipedal dog clad in golden armor, equipped with a big staff. Its eyes are glowing red and green energy spills out of the staff. Following the animal theme, another god is a giant alligator with a huge arm blade in its right hand. The final goddess is blonde with a stern look etched permanently on her face. A skintight wrapping of red bandages gives a very good impression of her body.

**"Shang Lao, or should I say, Shang Tsung," **rumbles the dog deity in a simultaneously patient and angry tone. **"You are one of the few demons that hail from the Outworld, and the one unfortunate enough to be paying for the sins of your late master. For the crimes of Shang Lao, your most prized possession will be taken from you."**

The gigantic canine walks up to my prone body and hits me with his staff. The strike siphons...something from me, I am not sure what. However, the effects of the blow are immediate. My body transforms into that of a human. I lie naked in front of the judgement of the gods.

**"May you be damned to live as that which you hate the most: a human. Your demonhood, your most cherished belonging is taken away."**

**"Now it is time for our judgement,"** says the white haired Earthrealm god. **"We know what you desire most: to drink the blood of true warriors to become strong. Now, we shall turn that into your curse. If you do not take the soul of a true warrior, you shall die."**

The Earthrealm pantheon point their hands at me together and fire a combined blast of their elements together: wind, fire, earth, water and lightning. The blast hits me, but I feel no pain. Whether this is intended or because I'm beyond the point of pain, I do not know. But this I do know: never have I been humiliated so.

**"We are grateful that you allowed us to punish this wretch," **says the blonde woman with a bow. **"We will now take our leave." **In a flash of yellow, the Outworld gods depart.

**"And now, you will be banished as well," **rumbles the rock god.

**"How will you live now, as a human?" **sneers Raiden. **"More importantly, how will you be able to take the souls of true warriors now that you've lost your abilities as a demon? We're expelling you back to the Outworld now. If you somehow manage to live for ten years, I will personally invite you back as an honored guest! Hahahahahaha!"**

The proud laugh of the god of thunder rings in my years as I am transported to the Outworld.

I materialize a feet above a stagnant pool of water in the middle of a forest. I fall face first into the smelly puddle. Spitting out a mouthful of that repugnant liquid, I struggle to stand up. However, my body is still weak from the multiple shots of lightning that I took, and I fall back into the water. Anger streaks through my body as I force myself up.

"YOU THINK THIS WILL STOP ME?" I roar to no one in particular, though I know the gods will be listening. "YOU THINK THIS PUNISHMENT IS WORSE THAN DEATH? I'LL SHOW YOU! LIVE FOR A HUNDRED YEARS? NO! I'LL LIVE TO TAKE MY REVENGE. I'LL LIVE TO SEE YOU REGRET THIS AND MAKE YOU GROVEL AT MY FEET. I'LL LIVE...**FOREVER!**"

**Bonus Kenshi**

The world was dark, darker than the moonless nights of every new month.

How had the world been plunged into such darkness? I can't remember. I was on a journey, looking for something. It had been light back then. What had happened to bring forth this darkness?

A sword flashed blue.

A sword! Of course! I was searching for a sword… no, I was searching to unlock the secrets of a sword. I was travelling with someone else, he helped me along a great deal when I was about to give up. We found the hidden location of the secret we were searching for, but what happened afterwards?

Why am I in such darkness?

The cavern, the sword in the rock. It called to me, I remember. I grabbed it and felt more power than I've ever felt in my life, and then pain. Did I black out? How long was I out for?

A faint, ephemeral voice whispers to me in the back of my head. _Shintaaa~_

"Who's there?" I call out. "Please help me, I'm lost in a cave with no light, please help me out!"

No light? That's not right. There should be the glowing blue rocks lining the walls of the cave giving off just enough light to see. What happened to them?

_Shinta!_ the voice calls again, louder this time.

A sword flashes with brilliant blue light for an instant. During that instant I see the entire cavern; it is just as I remember it to be.

_Shinta, _another voice moans, higher pitch this time. Another flash of blue washed over the cavern and I could just make out the faint outline of a blue being. It is neither living nor natural. Fear began to grip my heart. I was trapped in a cave without light and dealing with a spirit that was intent on dragging me to hell!

My sword, where is my sword? Shang had mentioned that the Ghostblade had spiritual properties didn't he? Surely that will help me stave off my attacker! Now that I think about it, where did Shang Tsung go?

_Shang Tsung tricked you Shinta,_ came the feathery voice of the apparition. _He led you to the resting ground of your ancestors where the sword that was passed down generation to generation, from Seijuro to you, Sento, was hidden. He made you try to claim the sword without chanting the spells that would deactivate the holy seals protecting the weapon and then took the sacred sword for himself._

"Shang wouldn't trick me, he's my friend!" I said in defiance. "In fact, you probably hurt him too! Stay away from me! My sword will cut you to pieces!"

_If you will not listen, my son, then I will show you._ That voice sounded familiar... dad?

The bandaged handle of a katana flies into my right hand, and a multitude of images floods my mind all at once. A hurricane of otherworldly thoughts barrages his mind, whispering words and phrases of gods, demons and ancient struggles.

_I understand everything!_

My ancestor, Himura Seijuro, fought the hordes of hell with the family's heirloom sword, Sento. After he passed away due to his wounds in that battle, the gods honored his descendants by naming them the human protectors of Earth. Sento would be available for all his descendants to wield, but death for anyone else. They cast powerful enchantments so that only those who knew the disarming spell (which would be passed down orally generation to generation) could gain access to it. I had never learned that spell from father, so then the gods' enchantments must have struck me down, but then how am I still alive?

_After a hundred thousand years, even the magics of the gods begin to fail, _suggests the voice of Sento. _The ward that they put on the holy blade did not kill you, but it did steal your sight._

_I'M BLIND?_

_Yes, but hope is not lost my child. Though Shang Tsung believes he absorbed all the souls of your ancestors that resided inside Sento, he did not. He has taken away most of our power, but we persevere. We will be your guides. We will be your eyes. We will be your sword. Take up Sento and hunt down Shang Tsung. When you drive this sacred weapon into his body, we will draw out the power he stole from us and set all of his captured victims free._

"This undertaking, I humbly accept," I say as I tighten my grip on the handle of my new sword.

_One last thing Shinta..._

A flash of blue light washes over my mind. Out of the darkness, faint blue outlines emerge to reveal the location of everything. Thicker lines represent the boundaries between objects and lighter lines shows finer details. It is as if my eyes have stopped seeing color and started seeing everything in black and ghostly blue.

_You will no longer live as Himura Shinta. You will devote your life to becoming strong, strong enough to kill Shang Tsung and deliver retribution. You - we - are now Kenshi. Takahashi Kenshi. Our powers will keep this body alive no matter how wounded we become. Until vegeance is ours, we will not rest._

I have no objections. I should have died the instant I touched the swords. That I am alive at all is a gift from the gods, a second chance to set things right. I walk up the stairs leading out of the burial caverns of my ancestors to the outside world, Sento firmly in my hands. The only thought in my mind is to kill Shang Tsung.

Nothing will stop me, not even death.

After all, I'm already dead.

* * *

**So there you have it. Shang Tsung gets his first encounter with the Shaolin monks, meets and tricks Kenshi and gets his ass handed to him by Raiden. Now begins the Outworld Arc.**

**Boy did I get overly ambitious for this one. I had originally planned this to be a oneshot (a long one, but no more than 20k words). Now look at this monster. I'm going to be turning this into a full fledged story. This one took a long time because of a ton of procrastination (can't lie about that) and a general lack of inspiration. Between anime that I want to watch, games that I want to play and schoolwork, time and motivation has been scarce. Summer did not mean more time for me to write as I took a long vacation to China. But now I've managed to get this chapter out and I'll be working on MK:TE.**


	3. Exile to Outworld

**Originally meant to be much longer, but I felt I reached a natural stopping point.**

**Swamps of Zaterra inspired by 343 Guilty Spark (Copyrighted by Bungie, 343 Industries and Microsoft) and the Lumbridge Swamps (Copyrighted by Jagex).**

**Latter portion heavily copied off of The Gammage Cup by Carol Kendall.**

**Mortal Kombat belongs to Midway and Netherrealm Studios.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

It's been a week since my banishment from Earthrealm. Though food is scarce in this forsaken swamp I am travelling through, the sustaining aura of Outworld means I do not need to eat or drink to maintain my health. At least, that's how it should be. Every day I wake up to find myself aged considerably. The body I took in Earthrealm was that of a male in his mid to late twenties. In the span of seven days my body has aged twenty years.

Is this the curse of the gods? Will my body be condemned to rapidly decay unless I drink the blood of true warriors? So be it! I will rise to their challenge and defeat powerful fighters and consume their souls. I will devour so many spirits that I will not only continue to live, but I will grow even stronger!

Despite my defiance, I know that my situation is bleak. I spent the last week trekking through this bubbling marsh without seeing a single soul, not even a single animal. This is strange because there is a lot of ambient croaking and buzzing, denoting abundant animal life. Perhaps the animals are simply too small to be noticeable to the human eye? At any rate, I won't be able to consume any souls, let alone those of true warriors if I stay in this swamp. The only problem is that this bog is huge, and the thick tree canopy prevents me from getting a sense of direction based on the position of the sun. Worse, everything in this place looks the same. I could have walked in a huge circle and I will never know.

Solid ground is scarce in the swamp; most of the area is covered by dark, knee-deep water and I sink into the muddy bottom with every step. Wide-top trees shoot out of the waters, covering the sky. A combination of the thick canopy, heavy fog and constant rain creates an effect of perpetual night-time. Large ferns grow on the squishy, peaty land and all manners of aquatic plants grow on and under the water, though none of them bear any flowers. Gnarled, dark aqua green roots stick out of the soil every now and then and fungus grows everywhere. The entire color palette of the swamp is grey, brown or greenish-brown, very different and depressing compared to the vibrant colors of Earth.

I keep mainly to dry ground-the memories of my marsh-dwelling victims warn me of the danger of leeches in the water-but that is not always possible. My first priority is to leave the swamp and find a more populated area to get some souls and thus restore my youth. The easiest way to exit this bog would be to travel in one direction until I leave this seemingly endless wetland. To that end I often had to wade through kilometers of stagnant water, but miraculously not catching even one parasite. My guess is that my blood is simply revolting enough to drive them away. The abundant precipitation and my route through the waters constantly soak my clothes, and the wet cloth sticks to my body and saps my heat. Hypothermia, however, is not a problem because even in this accursed environment the temperature is hot and humid, and I am soaked in as much sweat as I am in rain.

Presently I am wading through a pool so big it approaches the size of a lake. Already the water level has reached waist level and the grey waters stretch on as far as my eyes can see (which isn't that far, considering the poor visibility). Soon the water is up to my chest and there is still no sight of dry land. I've long since shed most of my clothes as the overwhelming amount of water makes clothing more of a burden than a help, but I still have enough that my ability to swim would be greatly hampered. My weak, elderly frame further exacerbates the problem. Finally, the water level reaches my neck and I have no choice but to use magic.

I've never had a problem using magic before. I wielded the arcane energies as easily as any human might wield a club. Even when I took the body of a human in Earthrealm, my natural affinity to magic allowed me to cast spells with ease. It seems, however, that my magical affinity is demonic in nature, as my forced state of humanity has severely reduced my magical capabilities. I found this out the hard way on the first day of my banishment.

Annoyed with the unstopping deluge, I had created a bubble around me that kept the rain out. After a few minutes, I found that my strength was completely spent and I collapsed to the ground, exhausted as if I had been running non-stop for a full day. I was confused; even in Earthrealm, with its lack of magical aura, I could have maintained that spell without difficulty, so why couldn't I do it now?

I still don't have the answer to that question, but my hypothesis is that humans are less attuned to the flow of magic around them. Some are luckier than others and are born with a natural talent for the arcane, but overall, as a species, humans have an intrinsically weak ability to utilize magic. Thus, using magic requires a tremendous amount of effort and energy, and, as such, an individual would be limited to using magic in short bursts.

I chant the words of the simple levitation spell I need to cross the lake and, as soon as I complete the invocation, I feel an immediate drain on my strength. This is worrying because I've never had this happen to me before. At this rate, I will be unable to use any spells soon. Even soul drain might be too taxing.

Regardless, I do not have the luxury of wasting time; my energy is fast depleting. I set off, floating over the water. Minutes pass and black spots appear on my vision, but there is still no sight of solid land. With my strength spent and my elevation dropping rapidly, I spot the murky outline of an island emerging from the fog. I push toward it with desperate energy, but I pass out before I can make a secure landing.

_Whether I live or die is up to the gods now._

* * *

I'm dry.

I'm dry and I'm alive. How is that possible? How can anything be dry in this wet and rainy hell?

I lie on my back on some soft surface. It's a bit ticklish at the base of my neck but it's not uncomfortable. I can hear the pitter patter of rain striking leaves above me, though none of that water is finding its way through whatever cover is overhead. My sense of smell is completely dominated by a heavy earthen scent. All I have left to do is to open my eyes and wake up, but I feel so tired, as if my body had aged a hundred years since I fell asleep. My joints are stiff; my muscles are sore and my brain feels numb. Sleep starts to envelop my mind again when I hear movement accompanied by a hissing sound.

I snap into a sitting position and my eyes fly open. I instantly become awake and ready to fight off any immediate threats.

A trio of giant bipedal lizards stand before me. Their scales vary in color, ranging from mottled brown to dark green. The lizards' eyes glow ominously, but their dark slitted pupils set in orbs of red belie their intelligence and sentience, which I pick up on immediately. I seem to be in a cylindrical room that's just wide enough to allow me to lie on the ground fully stretched out. The room is rather tall; its walls extend much higher than I can jump. Some woven, leafy cover shields the interior from rain. The group of lizards stand in the only opening in the room. The opening is just tall enough for them to stoop under and wide enough to have room for three more lizards to fit.

One of them hisses at me. It seems to be trying to communicate with me, thought I can't understand what it just said. At the very least, they don't seem to want to eat me. I relax my body and lean back, propping myself up with my arms. Now that the tense moment is over, my weariness crashes back to me and my vision goes dark for a second. I am about to fall asleep again when another hiss brings me back.

Two more of the lizards appear, but now they are armed with crude spearheads hewn from stone attached to wooden poles. One of them hisses at me and jerks its head, signalling for me to leave. I can probably fight off two of them, but, with my rapidly deteriorating body, I doubt I can handle all five of them. Therefore I have no option but to obediently follow their orders. I rise and walk out of the prison (which, I observe as I exit, is really a big hollow tree) and continue to walk in front of my guards who directs my motion with their spears.

As I march, I am amazed by the habitats of the reptiles. They live in huts made of mud and moss. We enter the village square and I can see torch stands plunged into the ground at regular fifty meter intervals. The flames of the torches bathe the area with orange light that gives the illusion of a permanent sunset. There are a few lizards already outside, but news of my awakening seems to be spreading and more and more of these creatures are gathering to watch me. There are very few of them living in this village, less than a hundred, but they are truly very sentient.

The fires of the torches should not be able to stay lit in such a wet environment, and the mud huts the lizards live in should have been washed away long ago by the unending rain, but the lizards were smart in choosing their place of residence. The canopy of a massive tree covers their village completely and not even the eternal rainfall of the swamp can find its way through the myriad of leaves and branches that protect the reptiles' village.

At the base of one of the tree's roots (to put the size of the tree into perspective, even the half exposed root still more than doubles me in height) is a wooden platform with a bonfire blazing at every corner. At the center of the stage is a group of five lizards. Four burly beasts armed with spears surround a lone lizard. I assume this one is their elder based on the pale, bleached green color of his scales, which seems to denote age. If it is not the elder, then it is the chieftain, as its elaborate headdress signifies the animal's importance. The headgear is indeed luxurious: hundreds of strands of dried fern fronds spring forth from a strand of metal that sits tightly around the lizard's head. The several fronds frame the creature's face like hair and the rest curl forwards or backwards like a mass of tendrils. Strings of beads hang from the side of the headdress.

I am marched onto the stage and forced to kneel before the creature. The lizard will be hissing important things at me; I'd better cast a translation spell. Technically, translation is not how this spell works. Rather, it links together the minds of all living things in a nearby area, allowing them to understand each other better than words can ever convey. The energy required to sustain the spell, coupled with my earlier exhaustion, tests my endurance to the limit.

"Outsider!" proclaims the reptilian leader. "Take this message back to your leader: 'come near our sacred grounds again and the same will happen to you.' Guards, remove this outsider's eyes and ears!"

"Mercy!" I beg, though it pains me to do so. During the time he was speaking, I managed to look through the lizard's mind. His species used to live and flourish in a realm composed entirely of warm, temperate marshlands. However, that realm was conquered by Shao Kahn and absorbed into Outworld. The Saurians (as they are called), being unused to the predators and climate of Outworld, soon nearly got wiped out. Only a handful of their race managed to escape to this swamp, where they were more accustomed to living. However, a decade ago, large numbers of Tarkatans began moving into the swamp and displacing the Saurians. The already dwindling number of the lizards dropped even lower and less than a hundred crossed the lake to this isolated island, where they've been living for the past ten years. This one Saurian elder seemed to have experienced all of these events and many more first hand. It seems that this species have a naturally long lifespan. Indeed, I am quite jealous.

The elder pauses at the sound of my begging. Perhaps it is surprised that I can communicate with it; the Tarkatans certainly couldn't. The pause is probably the equivalent of the human expression of blinking in surprise, as the lidless eyes of the Saurians prevents them from blinking.

"Please hear me, oh ancient one." I continue. "Please do not misunderstand. I am no marauder from outside, seeking to kill your kind and take your land. I am merely a traveller, weak and weary from wandering and seeking egress from the swamp. Please, wise one, guide me out and I will leave you alone."

The Saurian pauses for a second, taken aback by my request. Surely if all he wants is to protect his kind, then my offer must be the best case scenario for him.

"So long as you honor your promise," hisses the lizard. "We will oblige you." The elder then issues a series of complicated noises that sounds like a mixture between hissing and spitting. The mind link tells me that he is referring to two other Saurians. Two of the reptiles comes forth from the crowd of beasts and leaps onto the stage, also kneeling before the elder.

"Take this stranger on the quickest route out of the swamp. Extend to him the courtesy of keeping him safe. It looks as if this human doesn't have much longer to live anyways, the least we can do is let him live his final days in pea-"

"Elder!" a panicked cry interrupts. "There are more invaders! An entire boatload of them! And they're hostile, they come bearing weapons!"

Pandemonium erupts as the females and young ones run for shelter in the huts and the males scramble to find weapons. The elder mutters a curse and unsheathes armblades from the bracelets he wears (I had completely failed to notice that) as his four bodyguards tighten up to protect him. The Saurians are in combat formation now, three squadrons forming in front of the stage, protecting the left, right and center of the platform. In the distance, I can hear the rambunctious growls and howls of the approaching invading force.

Out from the shadows surrounding the town square comes the invaders: Tarkatans. The mutants leap into the square with their deformed mouths split into perpetual feral grins and the weapons embedded into their arms gleaming. One mutant dressed in a split white vest with red trimming hops to the front of the pack and lifts an arm to point at me.

"Come, my brothers!" snarls the Tarkatan. "Let us kill to our hearts' content!"

With a roar, the mutants rush at the Saurians. The lizards outnumber the Tarkatans five to one but the mutants don't seem to care. They almost happily throw themselves into the reptiles' spears just to take down one of the Saurians. The invaders will soon be wiped out, but not without killing a bunch of the Saurians first.

My eyes gleam. This is the best opportunity I've had in a long time to harvest some souls. Stretching out my hand, I chant a spell that will capture all the souls within the vicinity. Though the initial casting drains a lot of my energy, I soon become revitalized. No, revitalized does not describe the feeling well enough. Restored would be a more fitting word. The curse of the gods has stolen my strength and my youth, but the gift of souls has restored this to me. I can feel my muscles become limber again and my joints unstiffen. Power courses through my veins and I stand taller, straighter. My wrinkles smoothen out and my hair, the majority of which has fallen off, regrows and shortens.

_I have returned!_

By now, the invaders have been slaughtered and the lizards are gathering up their dead kinsmen. The elder, wary of the physical change I have undergone, turns to me and speaks:

"These fouls monsters have found our hiding place by following you," accuses the Saurian. "You must leave immediately!" Through the mind link I can feel the reptile's surprise at my youthful figure. Its top priority, however, is to keep his village safe by making sure I leave as soon as possible.

"I agree, elder," I respond. "Let us not waste any more time."

I modify the mind link to cover everything around me in a radius of 20 meters, and then my escorts and I rush to the edge of the island where the invading party's boat still rests at the shoreline. The ship is a plain, hollowed-out vessel, propelled by oars, that is big enough to carry a score of Tarkatans and seems heavy enough that it would need at least half that number of people rowing to move it. My escorts climb aboard and the elder is about to say a few final words when a flare of alarm runs through one of the elder's bodyguards. Instantly, we whip our heads around to look at what alarmed the lizard.

An entire fleet of Tarkatan raiding ships of over thirty vessels are making its way to the island. The Saurians, though competent fighters, had enough trouble repelling just one boat of attackers, they will be completely wiped out by an invading force this large.

While letting the Tarkatans wipe out the Saurians for me to take their souls sounds good, I think even I would have trouble fighting the remaining mutants by myself, even after taking all the souls of the lizards. Besides, they have been good to me, the favor I am about to do for them is the least I can do to repay them. The spell I have in mind will take an extraordinary amount of energy though.

Fortunately for me, I just consumed the souls of over thirty strong fighters.

Raising my hand, I send a pulse of magic out, stirring up a massive wave over fifty meters tall. Even in the dim light of the swamp, the wall of water casts a shadow over the advancing vessels before crashing down on them. The boats furthest away get smashed into splinters while the others become filled with water and sinks to the bottom of the lake. In one fell stroke, over two hundred Tarkatans are sent to the depths of this brackish lake.

And every single one of their souls becomes fuel for my power.

"A god!" one of the lizards breathes, breaking the awed silence that has fallen. "This outsider is not an intruder, but a god!"

"Elder, turn him not away, but welcome him with open arms lest we incite his wrath!"

Rage flares within me. How dare they compare me to the bastards that call themselves gods! My anger dies down quickly though. These poor beasts surely have not had dealings with the gods before; else they would not use such a word for praise. Besides, the idea of being worshiped does sound nice. I briefly entertain the idea of demanding sacrifice once a month, but I reject the idea. The lizards breed slowly and their young take centuries to mature. They would be unable to sustain me.

The five Saurians fall prostrate before me in reverence. However, I tell them to rise. "I am no god," I say to them. "I am just a mortal-" _now _"-like you. Do not regard me as being above you."

"Even so, venerated guest," replies the elder. "Your mighty hand has saved our village. We ask that you may stay with us for a while and accept our hospitality."

My main goal was to harvest hundreds of strong, Tarkatan souls. Saving the village was merely a convenient side effect. The Saurians, however, are none the wiser. Ideally, I would like to leave this forsaken swamp as quickly as possible, but I've just gorged myself and there's no harm in a little bit of fine treatment.

"I would be honored to be your visitor," I answer.

Two of the reptilian bodyguards leave the elder's side to flank me. We proceed back to the hidden village of the Saurians.

* * *

I live among the reptiles for a month (at least, what I presume to be a month anyways. One can never be sure in this marsh because it's always dark and rainy, day and night) I learn much about the lizards that I did not pick up from the mind link.

Apparently their species once lived in Earthrealm and were cousins with the dinosaurs. A hundred thousand years ago, however, the Age of Warring Gods (as they called it) began and mass extinctions occurred everywhere. The dinosaurs were wiped out and it seemed the Saurians were next to go. The lizards found refuge in a relatively empty and untouched realm called Zaterra. They lived in peace in that realm until a few thousand years ago, when the armies of Shao Kahn discovered their realm. Their race was unable to defeat the Kahn's minions in Mortal Kombat and Zaterra was soon assimilated into Outworld. This marsh is the remnants of Zaterra, ruined by its merging with Outworld. The rest of the Saurian's history I already know.

Though the Saurians are blessed with longevity (a thousand years to them is about a year), none of the Saurians actually remember living in Earthrealm. The history of their kind has been passed down by tongue from generation to generation. The reptiles' civilization is rather underdeveloped, lacking written language and agriculture of any sort. The lizards still hunt (it seems they are unable to tap into the sustaining aura of Outworld or use magic) for a living. Even without the crude spears that they craft for themselves, their natural ability to blend into the environment and their stealthy movement make them excellent killers.

In this forgotten realm, the Saurians hunt their prey, the giant insects of Zaterra. The reptiles use their camouflage to sneak up on their unsuspecting prey before striking together, dismembering the bug before it can respond. The insects are a biological wonder; that insects three times my size should exist, let alone move as quickly as they do is a miracle. Even with the Saurians' stealth, sometimes the bugs can still sometimes pick out the sound of their movements and fly, crawl or swim away at alarmingly fast speeds.

The lizards eat them insects by vomiting their stomach acids onto the exoskeleton to dissolve it and then they slurp up the juices of the dead insect. It's rather fascinating to watch them go about it, but then they offer some to me and... well, I'm glad that I don't have to eat in Outworld.

One of the most interesting things that happened during my visit is the blood-binding. The entire village gathers to watch the procedure as I stand on the platform in the center of the town. As the elder explains it:

"Shang Tsung, we are in your debt because of what you have done for us. Please accept one of the strongest of our young to be one of your apprentices."

"Are you sure about this, elder?" I ask. Although the idea of having a servant is quite appealing, I prefer to remain solitary and unencumbered by others in my travels. "The village suffered losses in the Tarkatan attacks, giving away one of your strongest now would be a bad idea."

"I must insist," replied the leader without hesitation. "We would have suffered more losses if it weren't for you. Our honor and gratitude demand that we repay you with the highest gift we can offer."

One of the Saurians, one with pine green scales, climbs onto the stage and kneels before the elder and I.

The elder hisses the reptile's name. "Do you swear to serve, protect and obey Shang Tsung while you still draw breath?"

"I swear to serve, protect and obey Shang Tsung while I still draw breath," affirms the lizard.

"For convenience's sake, you may refer to him as Reptile," adds the elder. "He will stay by your side and defend you from all harm as long as he lives. We would be honored if you could teach him to wield the power you used to destroy the Taraktans as well."

"It is my pleasure," I respond.

"Now, to finalize the blood-binding," says the elder as he draws out an elaborate bone dagger. He hands the weapon to Reptile, who plunges it into his chest and gouges out his own heart. Green blood pours from the gaping hole in his chest and spills out onto the wooden platform.

"My heart I give to you...Master," Reptile hisses through his pain as he extends his still beating heart to me. The Saurians must have multiple hearts; else he would be dead right now.

"His life is now in your hands," says the elder as I take the warm organ. "Reptile is now blood bound to you, the bearer of his heart."

"This burden I do accept," I declare. "Reptile, your service is appreciated."

Reptile gives a curt bow before backing off the stage, probably to do something about the new orifice on his body. As Reptile leaves, so does the rest of the village, what with the blood-binding done and all.

* * *

"Is there nothing else we can do for you, Honorable Shang?"

Another week has passed and it's time for me to leave this bog and find more prey. In fact, some of my hair is already turning grey. The entire village has gathered to watch my departure. Some of the Saurian young that I have entertained with some cheap magic (as a race, they seem completely alien to magic and even a simple demonstration like making a rainbow impresses them) wave to me, but none of their faces seem sad at my leaving (they're probably unable to make that facial expression anyways).

"The hospitality you have shown me this past month has been great," I answer. "I am extremely grateful for it. But I am a hunter, wise elder. I cannot linger here for long or else I will waste away. The time has come for us to part ways. If my travels ever take me back here, I will make sure to return."

"May the gods bless your journeys my friend."

A jolt of anger runs through me, but I keep it from showing on my face. Once again, it is not their fault that they think the gods are anything but arrogant bastards deserving of humiliation. With a final bow, I climb into the Tarkatan boat that Reptile is waiting for me in and we cast off. The Saurians wave at me and I wave back at them until I can see them no more, then I grab an oar and help my new servant paddle. The boat is heavy, and the little propulsion we can give it with our paddling produces little speed; we are forced to move along with the current. Thankfully, the current is flowing in the direction we want to go.

The voyage, though slow, is uneventful, and after a day and a half of being on the water, I get the first glimpse of the sun I've had since my banishment. The temperature, too, has dropped from being intensely humid to comfortably warm. Along the sides of the river grows tall green grass. Further away grows thick groves of trees, though the trees are smaller than the trees of the swamp. This river is the only surface water in sight. With the greenery of the grass and trees, the deep blue of the skies and waters and the golden rays of the sun shining down, the moment gains a surreal beauty to it, a kind of beauty I haven't experienced since my days in Earthrealm.

The sight is wonderful to Reptile as well; I can sense it through our mind link. This palette of colors has been foreign to the Saurians as well ever since Shao Kahn conquered Zaterra and turned it into a perpetually rainy marsh. In Reptile's memory, Zaterra looks more like this, a water meadow, than a grey and dreary bog.

"Where does this river go?" I ask Reptile, already thinking about how I might collect more souls.

"I do not know," the Saurian replies. "The new world is dangerous and only the swamp is safe. None of us dare venture any further than to the edge of the swamp."

I fall into deep thought. According to the memories of the Tarkatan raiders, there is currently a lot of instability amongst the Tarkatan tribes. Their unchecked proliferation and their innate inability to use magic means they have been forced to expand their tribal lands further and further to survive. The prime hunting grounds are hotly contested and the smaller and weaker clans that are unable to fight against the bigger tribes are forced to migrate to new lands. The invading force that attacked the Saurians was a joint co-operative between the Black Fang tribe and the Bloody Claw tribe. These two tribes are among the weakest of the tribes, and they have been forced far from their homeland. The marshes of Zaterra are a new frontier for the Tarkatans, but it doesn't seem the mutants are well suited for that environment; I was their first feasible prey they've had in almost a month. That means the Tarkatans will continue to migrate further away and some of them are bound to head in my direction. A water meadow like this might be a good spot for them, as Tarkatans will hunt anything that breathes and there's a plethora of wildlife in this environment. While I do want to be close to Tarkatan hunting grounds, I do not want to be in the middle of it either. With the rapid migration of the mutants, being in the middle of their territory will mean being hunted endlessly, and not even I can fight forever.

Perhaps the best course of action will be to follow this river even further north until we exit the water meadow. It will only be a matter of time before Tarkatans fill this area, and then I will be in an excellent position to harvest their souls at my leisure.

"Let us go further downstream," I say to Reptile. "Undoubtedly this place will be crawling with Tarkatans soon."

Reptile gives a slight nod as we continue to drift along with the current.

By the time night falls, the landscape becomes more forested, though the land is still mainly open and flat. Willows line the banks of the river while the trees further inland are mainly aspen and poplar. Although the aura of Outworld provides for most of my needs, the need to sleep still remains. With Reptiles standing guard over me, I drift into unconsciousness. Hopefully, when I wake up, the vessel will not have drifted too far.

When I return to the realm of consciousness again, something feels different. It takes me a few seconds to shake off my sleepy stupor and realize that the familiar magical ambiance of the atmosphere is gone. Alarmed, I snap upright and look around me.

I am still in the boat drifting downstream. There are a couple of coniferous trees mixed in with the deciduous and there is less open space, but otherwise the landscape has not changed. It seems pretty early, only an hour after sunrise, based on the pink hue that tints the eastern sky. Reptile sits opposite of me, on alert because of my sudden action. I briefly entertain the thought of asking Reptile about the change in the atmosphere, but then I remember that his race is incapable of using magic, so I scrap the idea.

Now that I am calm and able to focus, I reassess the magical aura and notice something different. The ambient magic is not gone, just significantly weaker. To use the analogy of a pool, it's as if I was underwater before I went to sleep and now only the back of my head is in the water.

I send a weak pulse of magic out to scan for people who could be trying to create a null zone around me, but I can detect nothing bigger than a rabbit (aside from Reptile) in a radius of 10 kilometers. Perhaps...

"Is something the matter, Master?" asks Reptile.

"N-nothing at all," I reply with a shake of my head. If my theory is correct, I'll have to do a little backtracking. "Watch the boat Reptile; I have something to check up on."

The Saurian dips his head in affirmation as I leap out of the boat. Although I can no longer use my demon form, I am still agile for a human. I jump from the boat to the shore ten meters away. Without a single look back, I start running upstream. I will need to retrace my steps to verify my theory.

After an hour of running, my hypothesis is confirmed. As soon as I step past an invisible line, I enter into the familiar magical aura. The difference is like walking into a brick wall. I spend a few seconds identifying exactly where the line is and step over and back a few times, remarking at the abrupt change. It seems my guess is right after all. Something - or someone - must be artificially amplifying the aura of Outworld. For what reason, I can only guess, but the area affected is huge; the desert of my youth and this water meadow must be several thousand kilometers apart, and both of them are influenced by this aura.

Satisfied that no one is actively trying to limit my powers, my mind turns to some practical issues that this matter brings up. With the weaker arcane energies, I will have to start eating and drinking for sustenance like any other human. While I can still dispose of my metabolic waste with magic, I will be unable to do so for digestive waste. Using magic of any sort will require a lot more expenditure of energy, and I will want to conserve as much of that as I can for hunting. In fact, stopping other inconvenient bodily processes like growing hair or growing nails will also have to cease.

With nothing left to do, I head back downstream. It doesn't take long for me to catch up with the boat and hop in. Reptile looks like he wants to ask what I left for, but decides against it. All the better; the less he knows, the less I have to worry about.

By noon, my stomach is growling with a hunger I have not known since I left Earthrealm. The land is completely covered by a mixed deciduous forest with lots of deadfall. That should be hard enough to navigate through on foot to slow the Tarkatans' migration. I should set up a base soon, but there's nowhere suitable to dock and build a shelter.

Another rumble racks my belly. First things first, I need to find some food. A glister in the water catches my eye. It seems there are trout swimming in this river, but without a rod or bait, I won't be able to catch any fish. Near the shores of the river, I can see some green sprouts growing, which my collective memory identifies as watercress. It may not be much, and it may be raw, but a little bit of food in my stomach is better than nothing.

I hop out of the boat and land knee deep in water. Wading over to the green shoots, I grab a handful and rinse it in the river for a few seconds before putting them into my mouth. The plant's bitter taste combined with its slightly spicy flavor makes my face crinkle. Perhaps I will get used to this over time, but hopefully I won't have to rely on watercress as a staple.

While I eat, Reptile paddles against the current to keep the boat in place. A few handfuls of watercress later, I jump back into the boat and we continue our way downstream.

Finally, as the sun is being swallowed by the trees, the river we've been following meets another river that comes from the southwest and the two streams combine and flow northwards. Just on the right side of where the two rivers connect is a grassy little hill with a convenient tree stump near the water for docking the boat.

"This seems like a good spot to stay," I say to Reptile. "Let us put in here."

The Saurian gives a hiss of agreement before grabbing the coil of rope at the front of the boat and diving out of the vessel. As I maneuver the ship towards shore, my servant swims to the tree stump and moors the boat to the stump. As I climb out of the boat and head up the hill, I turn my mind towards planning for the future.

I can build a temporary shelter for the night with fallen branches and foliage, although if I want this place to be my base of operation, I'll need something more permanent. A house of wood will hard to construct, as I have nothing to cut trees with and fallen branches won't be sufficient for a house.

Upon cresting the knoll, I notice there is a rocky outcropping at the north side of the hill. Rocks of all sizes are strewn about in the natural quarry, and an idea forms in my mind. Perhaps I can transport some suitably sized rocks to the top of the hill and slap them together with some river clay and construct a house like that. Certainly, it will take a lot of work but it's quite feasible. The clay will act as both an adhesive and filler. For the roof I can weave some branches together, there are plenty of suitable willow trees by the river.

For now though, I need to construct that temporary shelter and get some sleep. In the morning I will look for something to eat and then start transporting rocks up the hill. I head down the east side of the hill into the woods to look for branches.

* * *

In the morning, I head down to the river for a drink and to dispose of my waste. Upon reaching the water, I am taken aback by what I see. A man that looks like me stares back at me from the water, except he's a lot dirtier and his hair is unkempt. Stubble lines his chin and upper lip, and his red cloak, once elegant, is now stained and ripped. I am astonished. I've always used my magic to maintain my perfect appearance, but I never knew how big of a difference it made. In just one day my appearance has deteriorated so fast, and I can see streaks of white in my hair already. I will have to hunt for souls soon.

First things first though, my stomach is empty and I will have to build a roof over my head. It is cloudy today and it will undoubtedly rain tonight. My little lean-to will not keep the water out if the wind blows in the right direction.

I head into the woods again foraging for something to eat. I quickly stumble upon a bush dotted with red berries. My collective memory identifies the berries as safe to eat and I cram a few handfuls into my mouth. The sweet-sour juices of the fruit fill my mouth and mitigate my hunger enough so that I can get some work done.

Returning to the quarry, I form a work plan in my mind. I will spend all of today transporting rocks to the top of the hill and build a pile. Tomorrow I will use the river clay to slap the rocks together, and collect the willow branches for the roof if I have time. I bend down and pick up a rock about half a meter long and head up the hill. The work day has begun, and there is no time to waste.

By midday, my arms are sore and my back aches. Although the day is cool because of the cloud cover, sweat drips from my brows. My entire body is weary and my stomach feels empty enough to implode. I call to Reptile to halt our labor. My hunger is strong and a few berries or sprouts won't satiate it. Perhaps it is time for me to catch a fish.

I use my bare hands to dig into the moist loam, searching for earthworms. In but a minute I have caught a handful. Next order of business is to find a suitable branch for my rod, but where will I get the string and hook? There are no suitable materials anywhere; I have no choice but to use magic.

For the string, I can alchemize some grass and reduce the amount of energy I need to expend. I grab a fistful of grass and channel my energy into it. The plant fibers extract themselves and connect to form a meter of string. Next, I will draw metal out from the earth. There's actually a lot of metal in the ground, but their deposits are so small that gathering a useable amount is simply impossible by traditional means. I place my palms on the ground and chant an incantation. I send a pulse of energy into the earth that draws out metal until I have a nugget in my hands. Now all I have to do is shape this chunk of metal into a hook. I focus once more and a ball of blue light envelopes the nugget between my open hands and a fishing hook materializes. The effects of the spells hit me immediately. My vision turns dark and my head feels lighter than air. I find myself collapsed on my back and gasping for breath, but a growl from my stomach forces me to rise and pick up my materials to continue on. I tie the string to the branch and then the hook to the string. With my completed rod, I head down to the river.

It is two hours and half my worms later that I finally manage to catch a fish. When I finally pull the glistening trout out of the water and onto shore, I feel a burst of pride and annoyance. I had only planned to take an hour at most for my meal.

Since I don't have a knife, I will have to clean and scale the fish with my hands, or maybe with a rock. I thrust my rigid hand through the trout's belly just below its head and I pull my hand down to its anal fin. Next I make cuts laterally along the fish's pectoral fins. Using a little bit of force, I break the exposed backbone and then I yank on the head, pulling off the head and all the innards with it. I'm going to keep the guts for bait next time I want to catch some fish.

With the trout cleaned, I go look for a rock to scale the fish with. Finding an appropriately shaped rock, I grab the fish by the tail and scrape from tail to head. Translucent scales pop off from the fish like ticks from an infested dog. The entire process is rather quick and I am done in less than two minutes. Now all I have to do is roast the fish and eat.

As I sit in front of the fire and munch on my fish (which tastes rather nasty without seasoning of any sort), I can't help but dwell on how much time I wasted trying to catch fish. I just spent nearly three hours to make my meal, and that's only one meal. Suppose I want to have fish for dinner, I'd be wasting six whole hours on food. And yet, this human body cannot do work if not properly fed. Looking at my pile of rocks, I see that it is pitifully small. I had planned to carry enough rocks to build a small house big enough for two people to lie down, but I won't even have half of the stones I need by nightfall.

I guess all I can do now is work extra hard to make up for the time lost from catching fish. To my delight, I see that Reptile is already in the quarry and standing by for my orders.

"Let's get back to work," I say as I descend the hill to the outcropping.

* * *

It's night now, and the clouds that have been hanging overhead all day has finally unleashed their load. As I expected, the hastily woven cover of the lean-to cannot keep the water out. Multiple leaks force Reptile and I to stand up. Reptile, though, seems to be sleeping regardless of the conditions. Even though he has no eyelids, I can tell that the Saurian is sleeping. A cold wind blows in from the side, bringing with it a host of raindrops that splashes my legs. I can't help but shiver: I haven't eaten anything for dinner and the temperature at night during rainfall approaches the freezing point. And yet, my brain is hard at work trying to solve the problem that's been bothering me all day.

If I work hard, my body will need food to keep working hard. In order to get that food though, I need to waste many precious hours, precious hours that I can't afford to waste. After all, food alone does not sustain my strength, but the souls of warriors as well. I will have to hunt for those soon. But for now, the more pressing issue is food and how I can obtain said food with minimal time loss. Ideas start to form in my weary mind, and a plan emerges, but I will have to act on it in the morning, I'm exhausted. In spite of the cold and damp, I soon join Reptile in slumber.

* * *

After a quick wash in the river, I set my plan in motion.

Before that though, I have plans for Reptile. The Tarkatan boat has a bag full of their supplies and, while rummaging through it this morning, I found a knife that can be used to shape wood and an axehead. I quickly explain my idea to Reptile:

"Your task is rather simple. Firstly, you will need to find a stick that will serve as a shaft for this axehead. The knife will help you trim down larger pieces of wood if necessary. Then, with the completed axe, you will start constructing a wheelbarrow. For the body, cut five planes of wood and remove squares from the corners of one of them. Next, make cutouts on the other four pieces so that they fit onto the first piece; make sure the cutouts aren't too big or they will be loose! Finally, make a circular piece of wood and two long rods. Do not worry about the assembly, I will do that myself. Just make two sets of wheelbarrow parts and that will be all."

Now then, for the plan I conjured up in the night. First of all, I'm going to need two nets: one big and one fine. I create them the same way I made the string yesterday, just with more grass and a lot more expenditure of energy. Next, I head into the woods and grab two strong branches and I set them firmly into the ground beside the water, making sure to slant them so that they lean out over the river. I fix the big net to the poles with the sides well above the water. I also anchor the small net inside the big one. Taking the guts from yesterday's dinner, I start catching trout and putting them into the big net where they can't swim out. I do that until I have enough for several days' supply.

Next, I reach into the bag of Tarkatan supplies and take out a small net for scooping little fish. I will be using this to scoop fish eggs. I wade out into the water and try to look for the little orange clusters while avoiding the glaring reflection of the sun. Any eggs I find I put in the fine mesh anchored in the big net. I stop once I have a satisfactory amount and I grab a trout for breakfast.

The fish in the big net is easy enough to understand, but the eggs have a purpose too. They will eventually hatch and grow big, and then I will empty them into the big net to make room for more eggs. By wintertime, if the river freezes up, I will not have to fish then, but I can simply get fish whenever I please from... from this fish garden.

Satisfied with my work, and full of fish, I head to the quarry to gather more stones. Reptile has two wheelbarrow sets made (shoddy but functional), which I assemble with magic. These two tools should speed up our progress greatly. By the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, our stack of rocks has more than doubled in size. Perhaps I shall start laying them down tomorrow while Reptile gathers more.

Thus we work like this day after day until the walls of the house so high I need to build piles of rocks simply to lay more rocks for the walls. By that point, my hair is almost completely white and wrinkles once again crease my skin. Tonight will be the night I hunt.

The day ends, and a moonless night takes its place. I should still have enough strength left to overpower a Tarkatan in a one-on-one fight, but I probably won't be able to do so tomorrow. I hope for good luck as I dash off through the woods at speeds unimaginable for someone with as old an appearance as me.

After about three hours of travelling, I spot smoke rising above the trees. As the idiom goes, where there is smoke, there is fire. And where there is fire, there is life. I slow down and proceed quietly towards the smoke.

In fifteen minutes I arrive at my destination. A small encampment is set up in a clearing in the forest. A lone figure is keeping watch around the fire whilst the rest of them are hidden away in two tents, presumably sleeping. The sentry seems to be busy warming himself up by the fire, so I take advantage of his laziness to sneak around the edge of the clearing to get behind him. Slowly and noiselessly I stalk up behind the guard. When I am less than two meters away from him, I pounce. I wrap my right arm around his neck, cutting off his cry before it makes it out of his throat. I thrust my other fist into the guard's diaphragm. The man's body goes limp, but I'm almost certain he's still conscious. That's going to change soon.

Drawing upon more strength, I cast a more localized version of the spell I used to gather the souls of the Tarkatans back in the swamp. I lift my victim up with my right hand as I channel energy into my left. A pale, sickly green light glows around my left hand and a similar colored orb flows from the limp body into my open palm. The corpse of the guard seems to deflate until naught is left but a grey husk of skin and bones.

I feel reinvigorated. A weariness that I was unaware of is lifted from me and fresh strength courses through my body. I head towards one of the tents and lift open the entry flap. Due to the dim light from the fire, I can make out five people sleeping in this tight space. They all seem to be deeply sleeping, which sounds make my job easier.

Silently picking my way to the nearest person, I quickly snap his neck and take his soul. There are no complications with the other four either. Just as I am about to enter the second tent, however, someone shouts.

"Hey! Who are you?"

I spin around. Someone has just stepped into the clearing. The fire illuminates his face and I see that this place is, in fact, a Tarkatan encampment.

Where had this one come from? Perhaps he woke up to attend to bodily needs? It seems unlikely; I would've noticed the movement if that was the case. My guess is he is the second sentry that had gone to relieve himself before I took out the first guard. At any rate, the other Tarkatans in the tent should be alerted now.

A feral smile splits my face. _Good, I was starting to get bored of this covert operations nonsense._

Realization dawns on the returning guard's face and he tries to yell, but I am upon him before he can choke out anything more than a strangled cry. I dash across the clearing and wrap my hands around the mutant's throat, cutting off his cry. Next, I lift him bodily and slam him into the ground. Finally, I raise my heel above my head before bringing it down to split his head.

I turn my attention to the Tarkatans groggily stumbling out of the tent now. I could summon a pillar of fire to consume them, but what fun would that be? I wait for one of them to notice me standing over the mutilated corpse of their comrade. Almost simultaneously, all six of the mutants notice me at once. A collective growl rumbles from their throats as each of them unsheathes their grafted weapons. Four of them have the traditional arm-swords, but one has axe blades instead and another has spearheads.

The Outworld nomads all rush me at once. A wave of nostalgia hits me like a wagon; this is just like old times. Perhaps not entirely the same; back then, I had superior reflexes and senses. Now that I am confined in this human form, I will have to work a bit harder to fend off multiple foes at once.

The Tarkatan at the front of the pack lunges at me with a stab, but I deflect his attack with a snap kick, exposing his front. I throw a powerful right hook at his chest, catapulting him back into the rest of the pack. The Tarkatans trip and stumble on each other rather comically, but the one with the axes manage to navigate through the quagmire of limbs.

I duck under a horizontal swing and then rise up with an explosive uppercut. This one must have a strong chin, because, aside from taking a step back, he doesn't seem to be fazed by my hit. Pivoting on my left leg, I unleash a spinning roundhouse to the side of his head. More mutants have untangled themselves now, and I am unable to follow up on my hit. I am forced to flip backwards to dodge several wild swipes. Some of the smarter ones have spread out to surround me, but that doesn't matter. Nothing they do will save them now.

Two Tarkatans charge at me from the front and I flip over them. I kick one of them in the back of the knee, forcing him to kneel. The other one turns to face me, and I drive the heel of my palm into his larynx. The mutant dies with a funny choking sound as the soft tissues of his throat collapses. The Tarkatan I had forced down rises now with a backhanded swipe. I dodge the attack and grab his arm. Stepping forwards and using my shoulder as leverage, I lift and fling my foe over my back and into another enemy.

Axe man comes at me again, still flailing recklessly. I sidestep his blows and wait for him to tire himself out. It is not long before his wild swipes slow down. Ignoring the other Tarkatans that try to engage me, I dash at the axe wielder and grab his tattered shirt. I yank him towards me and pull back my right arm, chambering a powerful punch. If I had the strength I possessed when I was a true demon, I would be able to shatter this mutant's skull with a punch with all my force. As it is, I will have to use a bit of magic to procure the same effect.

A trail of viridescent light is left in the wake of my fist as I launch it towards the unfortunate Tarkatan's face. His head explodes in a shower of bloody pulp as my enhanced fist passes through his brain as easily as a hot knife through butter.

My instincts warn me to duck, and I narrowly avoid being impaled by a spearhead that flies by overhead. I turn to see where the projectile came from. As I expected, it was the mutant with the grafted spearheads that fired the sharp object at me. A rope extends from his left arm to the spearhead lying on the ground a few meters beside me. With a slight _whirring _sound the rope retracts and pulls back the weapon. I step on the rope to prevent him from reeling it back in, but another one of his buddies leap at me with a dropkick and I'm forced to move away to dodge.

The fool that tried to dropkick me attempts to rise, but a vicious kick to the back of his head forces him down again. I punt him in the ribs, breaking a good number of them and flipping him around. Two of his buddies both charge at me from different directions to try to save him. I wait until they're almost on top of me before I make my move. Leaping high into the air, I avoid their attacks. The mutants' momentum is too great for them to stop, and they ram into each other headfirst. I land with a heavy stomp to my original target's chest, shattering his sternum and incapacitating him for good.

I avoid another flying spearhead as the two floored Tarkatans rise with groans. One of them recovers first and attempts to slash me, but he must have suffered some brain trauma as his blows fly wide. I humor him for a little while before delivering a savage uppercut to his solar plexus. The bald mutant doubles up just as his buddy attempts to gut me from behind. I sidestep the lunge easily and he ends up impaling his buddy's skull instead. With his arm-blade now stuck in his ally's head, the Tarkatan's ability to move is now limited. I snap a roundhouse at his face, but the weight of the corpse embedded into his right arm negates the knockback of the hit. Next I throw a combo of triple jabs to the face. Finally I step forwards and throw a cross to his chest, penetrating his ribcage and crushing his heart. A geyser of warm blood bathes my face as the mutant's corpse falls to the ground.

I turn to my final foe. The first signs of fear are appearing on his face, an expression I haven't seen in far too long. He shoots his weapon at me again, but I deflect if by slapping the spearhead on its flat side. I grab the rope as he starts retracting his projectile, and we pull ourselves towards each other. His lips draw back in a savage grin as an idea seems to have appeared in his primitive brain. He sticks his other arm out, meaning to use his superior range to run me through. I tug on the rope hard and cause the Tarkatan to stumble. Before he can catch his footing, I turn the spearhead around and stab it into his cranium. The mutant gives a startled choke before collapsing to the ground, dead.

I breathe in the fresh night air laced with the metallic tang of blood, and absorb the fresh souls of my victims. I should have enough strength now to last me for another week before I need to hunt again.

Ah, I almost forgot. One of them is not dead, merely incapable of moving. I slowly stalk my way to the broken body of the lone survivor. The fear written all over his face is delicious.

"No, please!" he pleads. Interesting. So even savages that live to kill will beg for their lives. That just goes to show how strong the desire to live is. That's right, everything—everyone—just wants to live, and I am no exception. The difference is that, while they will fail and die one day, I will not. They will become my food, and I- I will live forever!

* * *

**Next chapter will be a big experiment. Given how long I took with this chapter even while copying a lot of stuff from others, you can expect the next chapter to be up in... a year? Sounds about right. See you in a year.**


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